Why Plums Are My Favorite Fruit: A Story of Friendship
by Peabodythecat
Summary: Danny Ocean meets Rusty Ryan. A beautiful friendship ensues. Rated T for future events. A/N Many thanks to Otherhawk and Insilva for their encouragement. This wouldn't have been posted but for them. But if it sucks, it's not their fault. The fault is all mine, unlike the characters.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Danny Ocean laid eyes on Him, he was eating a plum. The juice was dripping down his chin and his head was half turned away, his attention on two older kids arguing over some unknowable something.

Twelve year old Danny stared hard at the younger boy, taking in the lime green t shirt, blood orange cargo shorts and bare feet. A scuffed knee. The plum.

After about a zillion years, measured in missed heartbeats, the boy licked his lips, delicately spat the plum pit into his hand started to suck on his thumb,and turned to look at Danny. His eyes were the brightest blue Danny had ever seen. One of them sported a shiner as swollen and purple as the plum had been.

The blond kid grinned and Danny felt his heart start beating again.

The traffic light change and Danny's car pulled away. He stared for as long as he could, unwilling to break eye contact, pressing his cheek against the cool glass. That night, his first night in the strange bedroom, in this strange place, he dreamt of plums.

He was being exiled.

Danny's face was pressed against the back window of a long black German sedan that was winding its way through a nondescript neighborhood of a nondescript town on the Jersey shore. The neighborhood was a far cry from both the wooded campus of Danny's school, where he was content, if restless, where he spent most of the year.

It was an even farther cry from his father's apartment in Manhattan, which he loved, but where he normally spent very little time.

He assumed it was a far cry from his mother and step-father's home in Newport. He'd never been invited there to confirm it for himself.

It wasn't seedy or dirty or dangerous. It was dull. The houses all look the same. The lawns look the same. The people. He hated it. He was spending his entire summer there. Exiled.

Two weeks ago, Danny was finishing final exams, charming Marmie, their warm, funny, wren-like house mother into ignoring the small electric coffee maker in his room (fire hazard, no small appliances allowed in student rooms, be CAREFUL Danny) and anticipating a month in the city at Dad's, before spending the rest of the (long, lazy) summer in Newport and possibly Cannes, or Lake Como with Mom and Franklin.

When Marmie found him in the common room, he'd been reading about the new Selznick retrospective at MOMA . She smiled. She loved the great old films too. With his dark good looks, charm and confidence, she could easily see Danny following on the footsteps of Bogart or Stewart. Just give him few years to come into his own.

"Danny, the headmaster would like to see you," she spoke softly, just a trace of her native Edinburgh, in her voice. She smiled at the boy. Her favorite, even though she knew she shouldn't have favorites.

His dark brown eyes widened fractionally and he tilted his head, questioning. Marmie knew he was thinking about the drama that had played out in the dormitory just last night.

Dorian Crowley, 15, entitled, brutal to the younger boys, had been escorted off campus by school security and rumor had it, the State Police.

She'd heard from the headmasters PA that Dorian had been caught with nearly 20grams of heroin in his satchel. One of the school guards was supposedly looking the other way while he "convinced" Anderson Frenly, a 14 year old scholarship student, to act as drug courier at out of town swim meets.

The guard, who was new, altruistic and quite unaware of the reputation of either Dorian or his father, didn't look the other way. Instead, inexplicably, he looked hard at what was happening (jesus, he thought he'd left this shit behind him when he left Hartford for this place) and called for backup when the "convincing" turned into a beating.

And if the written procedure for obtaining backup changed just that day, and the state police were called in when normally this would have been an internal Dickinson matter, well, in the aftermath no one asked any questions. And certainly no one remembered an unremarkable dark haired student with serious brown eyes delivering messages to the security office, or the same boy changing the duty roster so the new guard was patrolling the gymnasium instead of the science labs.

The subsequent search of Crowly's room, which Marmie had observed as house mother and school representative, uncovered more drugs, lots of cash, a small bottle of GHB, some contraband liquor, a cache of really nasty pornographic photos, and a suitcase full of stuff easily identifiable as his schoolmates and even some staff treasures reported missing over the semester.

A few were monetarily valuable, like the signed first edition of To Kill A Mockingbird that Dr. Monroe, the sophomore English lit teacher displayed in his office, or the opal cocktail ring Mrs. Jackson, the choral director inherited from her grandmother.

Some were embarrassing: hastily penned declarations of love, written by shy boys to other shy boys; snap shots of forbidden kisses and hurried touches.

Most, however, were the sentimental treasures of young kids, away from their families: Paulie Warner's collection of seashells. He started collecting with his mother the summer he was 6. By the time he turns 7, she was dying of breast cancer and there were no more days at the beach. He's 11 now and the shells (and memory) are all that's left; a photograph of Jordan Rogers, accepting the gold medal at the Virginia Dressage Championship. The photo captures clear as anything the last day Jordan saw his beloved coach (the only adult who ever told Jordan he was proud of him.)

These are fragile things, easily misplaced, easy to slip into a pocket, easy to hide. Easily destroyed. Things worth more than all the first editions and jewels combined.

Marmie pressed her lips together tightly to stop a slightly vicious and very satisfied smile from spreading across her face at the memory of Crowley being led away, cursing, shouting about his father's lawyers, denying everything and promising that "They'd all be very, very sorry." They already were sorry, she thought. But not about him.

She'd had her own encounter with the boy soon after he arrived at Dickinson. Marmie had returned to her quarters unexpectedly during the dinner hour. A cold snap caught everyone off guard and the huge old dining hall took hours, if not days to heat, so she came back for a sweater.

She gasped when she saw the figure standing at her bureau. Crowley was rummaging through her things, humming eerily under his breath. "Mr. Crowley! You will explain yourself this instant!"

Dorian froze, for a mere second, then crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked her squarely in the eye. "It's cold outside, ma'm. Thought you'd appreciate a sweater." He sneered at her, daring her to challenge his story.

"Get out," she tried to keep her voice level.

"Yes, ma'm," he was practically laughing at her discomfort. He strode past and she cursed herself for shrinking back against the wall to avoid brushing against him. He was halfway to the door when he suddenly turned around and caught her hand.

"Don't worry Ms. I won't tell the headmaster that you lure the boys back to your rooms in the evenings. I'm sure this was all a misunderstanding. But some people just wouldn't be as forgiving, would they? Some folks just have dirty, vicious minds. We'll just keep this to ourselves." He licked his lips and rubbed his thumb against her wrist.

She was so shocked at his audacity that she was momentarily speechless. Crowley squeezed her hand and slipped out. She needed to report the incident to the headmaster, but before she could pull herself together, she heard shouting from the dormitory. Boys were milling about, some were calling for help, some were crying. Peter Wells had just been found, unconscious in the bathrooms. Thoughts of Crowley fled her mind and she ran toward the dorms. Too late...too late to help.

She gave herself a little shake and came back to the present, looked at Danny, relieved that he'd been taking his last exam of the semester when Crowley'd been in her rooms. He'd been nowhere near the ugly scene. Danny had a gallant streak and Marmie wouldn't have liked him to pick a fight with Crowley in a misguided attempt to defend her reputation.

"He's waiting, Danny."

Danny spoke, just as softly, "I already gave my statement about Dorian. He didn't have anything of mine." (nothing tangible, nothing they could use as evidence, as proof) But he was already on his feet, reaching for his coat and scarf. Rain was a fact of life, and the night was chilly, even in the middle of May in New England.

She smiled at him, "I don't know what it's about, Danny. Maybe he would like to talk about Peter. You knew him better than most of the older boys. The young ones won't have noticed… Or maybe it's something else entirely. I'll make sure the hall isn't locked until you get back. Now don't keep him waiting.

The walk to the headmaster's office gave Danny time to mull over possible scenarios. There was no way they could have figured out that he set Crowley up with the altered backup procedure and then tipped the police. And Danny had been as surprised (though he probably shouldn't have been) about the drugs and the quantity of cash they found. The stolen items and evidence of vicious blackmail would have (should have) been enough to get Crowley kicked out. Facing actual criminal charges was an unforeseen bonus.

No, the plan was simple, Crowley was clueless, the police too excited about busting one of the elite schools privileged student and admin too worried about the fallout with parents and donors to look too closely at anonymous tips or anomalous paperwork.

Danny sighed. His satisfaction at Crowley's downfall was tempered by memories of a scared little boy too proud to ask for help. Petie. It must be about Petie, the 10 year old who lived in Danny's dorm. Danny's and Dorian's dorm. Dorian was a bully, everyone knew it. Everyone knew not to share confidences and most knew not to let him close to what (or who) you valued most, whether it was a momento from home, a prize you'd earned at sports, or chess or music. Or that you had special friendships. You didn't let him know there was anything or anyone you cared about. Petie didn't know. And he shared too much with the older boy, who reminded him so much of his brother.

When they found Petie in the bath they thought the staff had missed all the signs of a little boy too far from home, not ready for the pressures of a school like Dickenson. Protocols would be reviewed. Staff would receive training. Counsellors would be made available to the students. A scholarship would be established.

Danny never thought that was an oversight, negligence. He knew it was deliberate, intentional. Danny knew that a campaign of cruel words and emotional manipulation had been waged against this lonely kid. He also knew that his own fear of becoming a target, having his own weakness exposed (too raw, too vulnerable) caused this death. Danny swore he wouldn't let him get away with it. And he made a plan.

And when the search of Dorian Crowley room turned up so much unexpected evidence of blackmail and theft and emotional terror, well it was only natural that the administration would review all the questionable episodes that took place while Crowley was a student. And really, could there be quite so many? Surely somebody would have noticed...

It was all part of the plan.

So, as he walked through the mist that night, Danny fully expected to be asked about Peter.

He didn't expect to be met at the door by the headmaster himself.

He didn't expect to see the genuine look of sympathy in his eyes as he was steered into the office, a cup of tea pressed into his hand.

He didn't expect the words," Danny, I am so very, very sorry to tell you..."

Two weeks later...

The driver pulled up to the curb outside a neat bungalow a few blocks from the beach. It was neat (boring) and well maintained, much like the woman who lived there. Cherie Ocean, his father's older sister, met Danny at the door, nodded to the driver, who placed a suitcase inside the front door, nodded in return and left. Not a word was exchanged.

Cherie stared at Danny for a minute (the boy looked like his mother, but carried himself like his father, her brother (her dead brother) and jerked her head at a door down the hall (his bedroom). Then she suddenly grabbed a set of keys and left the house.

Danny took a deep breath, picked up his suitcase and went to his room (his room in this strange house) to unpack.

It was after dark when Cherie returned. She carried a bag of groceries which she unpacked efficiently and silently, sliding a deli sandwich, bag of pretzels and a carton of milk at him before washing her hands in scalding hot water and heading to her room. The door close firmly behind her and Danny heard a lock click.

Danny slowly and deliberately ate every bite (noting details that he'd otherwise ignore...that the sandwich was his favorite- ham and cheddar, with honey mustard, not yellow, on baguette...huh.) He made sure to sweep up the crumbs and wash his glass before turning off the light and going to his own room.

Lying in bed that night, he looked out of the window, curtains moving back and forth in the warm night breeze. It was too cloudy to see the stars. He imagined he could hear the ocean. His father had been dead for 2 weeks. It had been one week since he'd seen his mother (she left after he funeral, disappearing into a black limo with darkened glass windows), 10 hours since he arrived in this place. The summer in this foreign place, with this silent woman stretched before him, vague and full of the unknown. In one month he would be 13. No longer a child.

Time to make a plan.

When he woke the next morning, the sun was bright, the house silent. Danny made his way to the kitchen where he found a box of cereal and 2 bananas prominently displayed on the breakfast nook. He also found a house key, a hand drawn map of the neighborhood with the library, beach access gate and basketball court highlighted in green. Under the map was a $20 bill and a post in note with a phone number on it. **In Case Of Emergency** was emphatically spelled out in clear, bold printing. He thought his aunt meant the phone number and not the money, but couldn't be sure. hmmmm.

After eating 2 bowls of cereal (some type of multigrain flakes, not frosted, but not something that tasted like twigs either) and one of the bananas, he washed the bowl, stuffed the key and the money in his pocket and headed out. He'd memorized the map while eating and headed towards the basketball court.

Right away he spotted a blond head. He felt something skitter in his chest. Yep, same orange shorts, but today the kid was wearing a plain white tshirt. The kind Danny was taught to wear under his real shirt. The kid was lounging (really there was no other way for Danny to describe it) under a sickly looking maple tree that hadn't quite decided whether it had survived the winter. He was watching a pick-up game, and every so often another kid would come over, exchange a few words and then go off again.

Danny watched for a few minutes, then shoved his hands in his pockets and walked over. Before he could say a word, the blond kid looked up. Same electric blue eyes, the swelling was going down on the shiner, but the bruises were uglier today, green and yellow mottled with the purple. He was enthusiastically sucking on a cherry lollipop. His lips were stained bright red. Uncharacteristically, Danny found himself licking his own lips. But in his mind, he tasted plums rather than cherries.

"So you here for long?" The boy asked Danny.

"What makes you think I'm not here to stay?" Danny replied.

"You kidding, look at you. Look at this place." The 'Look at me' was left unsaid. Danny heard it anyway.

Danny frowned. He'd always prided himself on fitting in. It wasn't hard at school, of course, they were mostly of a type, those privileged young men, scions of other privileged men, but on those occasions where he had to get into town or take a bus ride into the city for the day, he never had trouble blending in with the crowd. He glanced down at his clothes. Black cotton t-shirt, wrinkled shorts, nothing preppy, nothing expensive, maybe a little better than this kid's, but nothing you couldn't buy at any mall in North America, nothing that the kids on the court weren't wearing.

"Man, it's not the clothes" this little skinny kid was laughing at him. "It's the way you move, like even though you're just this kid, this new kid, you have everything under control. Like you know where you're going, and how you're gonna get there and no one is going to stop you. And..." He paused, looking thoughtful, a little bit shy even.

If Danny had been the type of kid to gape, and he most certainly was not, he'd be doing so now. Instead, he made a little impatient noise. "and...?" he prompted.

The blond kid with the eyes and the wicked grin and the lips looked at him. "And...I think you are going to have the best time getting there."

Danny looked at him. His heart was beating fast. It had been since he turned into the park and saw the kid at the court. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't do this. No friends, no relationships, no losing anybody else. (No more dad, no more Petes) He'd keep his distance, follow his aunt's example. But he couldn't help it. It was hope like a magnet, pulling him toward the other boy. Or gravity, or some other inexplicable, undeniable, unstoppable force of nature.

Without any more thought, he smiled, a little bit madly, and stuck out his hand, "Danny Ocean. I'm here for the summer, staying with my aunt."

And with a look that lit up the sky, the kid grinned back and said, "Rusty Ryan. What do you want to do today?"

And Danny returned the grin confidently, "Well, I have a plan..."


	2. Chapter 2 - Fill Me Up

A/N - Thanks to Otherhawk and InSilva for all of their encouragement. If you haven't read their work, check it out now. Don't even read this first. Just go now. You won't regret it.

A/N - This chapter and the next one are mostly Rusty back story. I feel like I am cheating Danny out of an extra chapter, but both Rusty chapters demanded to be told, but it didn't feel right to keep them together. Don't worry, Danny will get fair treatment in the future.

A/N - Violence warning and people not being very nice to kids.

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><p>Ch 2.<p>

He just couldn't get full. No matter how much he ate, no matter what he ate, an emptiness remained. A hollow feeling that no number of foot long hotdogs smothered in ketchup and mustard and onions and relish could erase. His mother just stared at him with a vague look of disgust on her face and went back to her manicure. But Rocky, her boyfriend, thought it was hysterical.

"Look at the kid, Margie. He can't weigh 75 pounds, couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag, but By God Can He Eat." And then Rocky would clap him on the back and laugh and the rest of the evening would pass pleasantly.

Sometimes Rocky (real name Richie Bower but he fancied himself as a boxer) would take young Rusty around with him, betting his drinking buddies that the kid could out eat the biggest man in the room. They did pretty well. Hot dogs were Rusty's favorite, but he was willing to try anything. Hard boiled eggs, oysters, pizza (that was a good day) ice cream (that was a better day) - he'd out eat everyone. One memorable occasion saw Fat Samsa bet Rocky $500 that the kid wouldn't finish a gigantic bowl of caesar salad (he thought Rusty would be put off by the anchovies).

And if it meant cash (Rocky let him keep $5 of their winnings every time) that was a good thing. Because being flush with cash meant Rocky was in a good mood. It was especially good if he hadn't been called out on a job in a while, or he when owed some money to _some_ guys. 'Cause when Rocky was in a bad mood...well Rusty stayed out of reach.

And if after a while, Rocky started bringing Rusty along with him to card games and drinking sessions, no one thought much of it. He didn't cause trouble, didn't get in the way, knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to make himself scarce. Truth be told the guys got a kick out of this skinny kid and he became sort of a mascot. They taught him how to play dice, count cards, and bluff. He soaked it up like a sponge.

Another good thing about having the kid around was that the fellas didn't have to deal with Rocky when he drank too much (usually) and lost too much (frequently) and ran his mouth too much (always). The kid would easily avoid the drunken punches halfheartedly thrown his way, nimbly slip the keys out of Rocky's jacket and ask one of the guys to help him get Rocky to the car. No one cared that Rusty was years away from driving legally, or that he was still so small he could barely see over the steering wheel. They just loaded Rocky into the back seat of the Buick and went back inside. It wasn't Rocky's good luck that saw them home those nights. But there was hell to pay for that dented rear quarter panel and "the paint job is either coming out of you hide or your wallet."

It probably inevitable that a guy like Rocky, with his mouth and his temper and his phenomenal unlucky streak would get on the wrong side of certain people. Men with hard mouths and harder fists. Men whose tempers were cold and calculating.

And it was probably inevitable that when these cold men found Rocky, in the back room of some off- the- boardwalk bar, that Rusty was there, inconspicuous, small, keeping to the shadows (nimble hands reaching into the unguarded pockets of drunks for a prize he didn't have to share). Not like he hadn't seen his share of violence. Bar fights, accusations of cheating at cards, looking at the wrong woman in the wrong way. These were a way of life. This was different. These men were different.

He remembers 5 things about the night the cold men found Rocky. Well, Rusty remembers _everything_ about that night, like Rusty does (and how surprised he felt when, years later, Danny tells him it's not like that for most people). But, about that night, these things stand out, each of his 5 senses providing details he doesn't have to make a conscious effort to call up in his minds eye. He remembers this:

1. They didn't break down the door. In the movies, they always break down the door. (A detached, part of his 10 year old self was vaguely disappointed about that; a different part was reluctantly impressed that they didn't need cliches to make an impression.) They just glided in. Silently. For a moment Rusty was sure he was the only one in the room to know they were even there.

2. The smell of urine cutting sharply and suddenly through the smog of cigarette smoke and beer and too many men in too small a room.

3. The taste of blood in his mouth as he bit down on his own lip to keep from screaming as the cold men did something impossible to Rocky.

4. The sight of dead grey eyes looking at him. A flicker, briefly, so briefly he might have imagined it, of surprise and curiosity and something his child's mind didn't recognize, but that he instinctively recoiled from. He saw himself being assessed, being remembered. And he felt afraid.

5. And lastly, Rusty remembers a touch. He remembers vividly, as if it happened seconds ago - the brush of a cold, calloused thumb across his lip, wiping away the blood, but leaving some indelible wrongness behind.

And then the screaming started and the night erupted into chaos.

Later, he feels guilty that what keeps him awake at night isn't the memory of Rocky's mangled fingers (His hands are useless. He will never remove the transmission assembly from any vehicle ever again**. O**r light his own cigarette, or shuffle a deck of cards.) It's also not the sound of this man, who is the closest thing to a father he's ever known, gasping raggedly to keep from choking on his own blood that prevents him from sleeping.

Of course those things cause nightmares, and it's a long while before he is able to walk past Sal's Butcher Shop without feeling nauseous. But this he understands. He knows where this fear is coming from.

No, what keeps him awake is the memory of that ghosting touch across his mouth, those cold grey eyes. And he doesn't know why he's terrified and the not knowing is even worse. He doesn't understand. That's why Rusty finds himself awake at 2:30 in the morning, surrounded by Mountain Dew cans and too wired to sleep (a good thing) but too wired to shut off his brain (not so good).

Later in life, this quirk or gift, or curse (whatever you want to call it, he doesn't call it anything...it just _IS_)... later, this will serve Danny and Rusty well. It's what makes him the best details man of his generation. Rusty doesn't _choose_ to chew on a problem, an angle, like he chooses to wear shimmery silk shirts rather than starched and pressed cotton. He doesn't consciously _choose_ to forgo sleep and sanity until all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. He is as physically unable to shut down his mind as he is unable to stop breathing.

This is an asset when he is 30 and is oh-so-very-close to figuring out how the Acme X38 security system can be bypassed so that Danny can access the safe in the Forrestal mansion. He doesn't have the answer...yet...but he understands the problem, and trusts that eventually...soon... he will see the unseeable, and they'll have a way in. And of course when he's 30, Danny is there, understanding, accepting, and making sure he doesn't self destruct while his mind follows every angle.

But when you're ten, and you are alone, and you can't imagine _why_ you fear the cold man( seeing you, touching you ) more than you fear the physical pain of what the enforcers did... well, not being able to turn off your brain is a problem.

And while the adults in Rusty's life weren't the smartest, or the most generous with affection, they weren't bad people. His mother was just a bit too immature, a bit too lazy and a bit too consumed with her own problems (missed car payment, the new cook at the diner with the grabby hands, how to tell pops that his favorite grandson, Debby's boy, Marco got mixed up with drugs and is back in rehab and, and...and) to really pay attention to him. No one noticed that the light didn't go off in his room. No one noticed the dark circles, the flinches, the fingernails chewed to the quick.

Sure, that night after hours in the emergency room, after the blaming and the crying, Rusty's mom had hugged him hard and promised that she'd get a better job and save enough for them to get their own place in a neighborhood with a good school. She swore that she was so very, very sorry (but perhaps she was just ever so slightly more sorry for herself than her child). And Rusty hugged her back and wiped the tears from her face and swore he was ok, that everything would be ok. But it was a long time before he fell asleep that night. And in his dreams he saw the cold grey eyes of a predator; those eyes full of something he didn't understand.

Weeks passed. School ended, summer began. The red soaked nightmares faded and he even slept through the night again. But he still fought sleep, dreaded being alone in the dark in the moments before sleep overtook him. And his mind worked overtime to figure out what that look meant.

A few weeks later, he realized ignorance was actually bliss.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Alley

A/N - The conclusion of Rusty's backstory. New chapters will have the boys together, as is meant to be. Sadly, I don't own them.

A/N - Disturbing themes involving children. Nothing graphic, but it's not nice.

A/N - Remember...in the previous chapter Rusty was getting more and more sleep deprived. He's still not himself, and not thinking all that clearly.

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><p>Chapter 3 - The Alley<p>

The summer Rusty Ryan met Danny Ocean was unseasonably hot. Adults complained about the heat _and_ the humidity. The kids headed the beach. Rusty's mom, who was working double shifts at the diner to make up for the loss of Rocky's (admittedly sporadic) wages, didn't pay much attention to his comings and goings, but did tell Rusty that if he was going to spend the day at the beach, he had to go with his cousin.

This cousin was in fact the hapless Marco, fresh out of rehab and reluctant to spend his summer days _babysitting_. This suited Rusty, who despite the fuzzy headed feeling he just couldn't shake, was Mortally Offended, and they came to an agreement. Marco would appear at Rusty's house in the morning. They'd head to the beach in each other's company, and as soon as they came to the end of the path through the sand dunes, they would go their separate ways. Family duty satisfied. Independence maintained.

This worked beautifully for about a week. When Rusty had left Marco, his cousin was heading under the pier with a red headed girl wearing a short yellow sundress. Marco was shipping out to boot camp in a week (his last escapade sealed his fate and his grandfather had delivered an ultimatum) and he wanted to make the most of his time. Rusty made his way to the boardwalk. He had a few dollars (the last of the eating contest winnings) and was craving onion rings and cream soda. Then he was going to head over to where Joey Flash had a shell game going. Easy to lift a wallet from the crowd that gathered to see the show.

He slipped easily between the men gathered around Joey. Some were locals, blue collar guys on their day off, buying their kids some lunch at the boardwalk, taking a few bets bs-ing with guys from back in the day. Rusty left them well enough alone. He knew these guys. He knew their kids. He knew they had to make too little go too far and that they'd give him the shirts off their backs if he asked. These were the guys who came around to the house to fix a broken air conditioner, or replace the broken rope starter on the push mower now that Rocky was...unable. He slipped by them with an easy grin. They saw him and then forgot about him.

The tourists, he studied before making his move. He looked for the men who demeaned their wives in public, or who were quick to cuff the faces of kids whose only crime was being too eager and too vocal about getting down to the beach to play. He listened for loud mouths making racist jokes, and focused on out of towers who refused to bus their own tables, leaving greasy wrappers and crushed soda cans to litter the ground and blow into the dunes. These men were fair game.

Keeping his head down, those memorable eyes lowered, he danced through the crowd. The mark he chose, was a giant, sweaty red faced guy with bad breath who'd just flashed a wallet full of $50s while grudgingly buying his wife a diet Coke. It was an easy pull and he was heading happily back to the food stands when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. For a heart stopping moment he thought the mark had caught him, and he spun around, ready to run. " I need to meet my dad at the skeeball booth. I'm already late and he's looking for me,"he lied smoothly.

"Whoa, easy there sonny. I'm not gonna rat on you. And I know you're not here with your father. With anyone. You need to come with me."

He wasn't a cop. Rusty knew them all, and this guy wasn't anything official. Rusty screwed up his face, immediately looking even younger than his nearly-but-not-quite 11 years. Usually this led to offers to help find his folks, but not this time. The guy just kept hold of his arm and pulled him into an alley between the fortune teller's tent and the wax museum. The alley wasn't dark, but shaded and dim.

Rusty was wary, but not too scared. There were plenty of people just a few yards away, and at this time of day it was a family crowd. Not the types to ignore a kid yelling for help. So he jerked his arm, trying to break free (not succeeding) and took in the details.

The guy was youngish. Older than Marco, but not as old as his Uncle Frank, who was 25, and in the Marines. So that put him somewhere in his early 20s. He was a lot taller than Rusty, but slightly built. Oily dishwater blond hair, wispy mustache, clammy hands that pinched meanly at Rusty's bare arm. He was wearing a truly horrific Hawaiian shirt and cut off dirty white sweat pants. They hung on his skinny hips and he kept tugging at them. Now that he had Rusty here, the guy didn't seem like he knew what do do next. He actually seemed more nervous than Rusty. Even though he didn't see track marks, Rusty thought the guy was probably a junkie who was going to beat him up for his money, knowing he'd never go to the cops. Rusty mentally berated himself for getting caught, but he still wasn't particularly afraid. He had taken his share of punches, on the playground, at home, and he didn't think this guy could do any real damage. Rusty was more upset at the thought of having to lift another wallet or going home hungry.

So he was quite shocked when the guy covered his mouth and then grabbed his hand, placed it on his crotch and started rubbing. Rusty, whose fight or flight instinct _finally_ kicked in, bit down on the creep's thumb, and tried to twist out of his grasp. The guy panicked but didn't let go. He pulled him onto his back and Rusty felt the guys elbow crack him on the face. His head smacked against the hard ground and his vision blurred. He was just about ready to start screaming, when the guy was yanked off him. Amazingly, there was Marco, looking about 10 feet tall and really, really pissed off. Marco grabbed Rusty and hustled him out of the alley and down the boardwalk.

Marco found an empty table with an umbrella to provide some shade, shoved Rusty into a seat, and growled, "If you move from this place, I will kill you."

Rusty just nodded, still shaking from adrenaline and shock of it all. Marco disappeared for a few moments, and just as Rusty was ready to risk it and make a break for home, he returned with a gigantic chocolate bar and what looked like a gallon sized cup of cherry coke.

"Eat this. Drink. Will help with the shakes." Marco spoke like he knew what he was talking about, and Rusty decided it was easier to just do what he said. And Rusty would have to be in really bad shape before he turned down chocolate.

After a couple minutes, Rusty stopped shaking. With the resilience of the young, with the resilience of _Rusty_, he was slurping the soda and happily nibbling the chocolate. Marco, muttering about how he'd never be able to explain this to his mother, chain-smoked 2 unfiltered cigarettes, drew a deep breath and turned to look at his cousin. The serious expression on his face made him look older than his 18 years. Rusty broke a square from the candy bar and pushed it toward him. Marco smiled wryly, and accepted the gesture.

"Rus. Rusty. I know it's weird, but you have to tell me what happened in there before I came," Marco reached out and lifted Rusty's chin. "Did he hurt you?"

Uncomfortable with this concerned incarnation of Marco, Rusty fell back on the smart ass quips that were second nature to him - good at distracting and deflecting. Marco, though, had known Rusty Ryan since the day he was born, and though he had screwed up royally in the not so recent past, he wasn't stupid and he genuinely cared about this scrappy kid. He'd seen a lot in juvie and heard some really heartbreaking tales in the mandatory group therapy sessions while in rehab. He also knew the kid hadn't had the easiest time of late (or ever.) He knew deflection, he knew that beautiful boys like Rusty were targets, and he knew what he saw in that alley. He just didn't know if he saw the worst of it. He knew Rus had been too worked up for it to have been a just a shake down, but after what the kid had gone through because of that idiot Rocky last month, Marco just wanted to make sure he was ok.

He wasn't expecting Rusty to be totally ignorant of the concept of pedophiles.

Marco listened to Rusty tell him about the pull, about getting spotted and dragged into the alley. He listened to his cousin describe this sicko with pretty amazing detail (he'd make sure the guys knew to keep an eye out for him) and sighed with relief when there was no mention of exposure. But he had to be sure. And in any other circumstances the look of utter confusion and disbelief on the kid's face would have been hilarious. Jesus,what was Margie teaching this kid ? Marco had known to stay away from the pervs from a much earlier age. Here was Rusty, not even 11, face like an angel, running around in a bathing suit...Jesus. Marco felt sick and angry and like breaking something. It was hard to forget that just because the kid was street smart in every other way, clever and fast, that he was very, very young. And apparently, against all odds, was still innocent of the knowledge of what could happen to him.

And there was Rusty sitting across from him, with chocolate smudged on his lip, blue eyes as round as dinner plates (ugh that bruise was gonna be real ugly by morning) looking at him very solemnly. So he drew a deep breath, and began to explain.

After Marco finished speaking, Rusty nodded and gathered up the candy wrapper and paper soda cup. He carried the garbage over to the trash can, carefully threw away the debris, took a deep breath and vomited into the bin. Marco stood there rubbing his back and somehow procured a bottle of water. Rusty rinsed out his mouth, handed the bottle back to Marco and let his cousin lead him home.

And as Rusty lay wide awake that night, his eye throbbing and his head aching he didn't take any comfort in the fact that he finally understood why the memories of the cold man frightened him.

* * *

><p>The next day dawned hot and bright and Rusty was determined not to let memories haunt him. There had been absolutely no indication that the cold man was after him. Rocky had paid his debt( in blood and money) and all the uncles said the matter was closed. Time to stop acting like a baby and enjoy the summer. Like his mother said (although perhaps with regret, not optimism) "You're only young once."<p>

He deliberately dressed in the brightest clothes he had (orange shorts, green shirt), grabbed a piece of fruit for breakfast, and went outside. It was like an oven, even at this time of day, but Rusty soaked up the heat like a cat. No cold men, no grey eyes...just a perfect summer day.

A strange car moved through the street and for a moment he froze. No. It couldn't be. Not here... It was sleek and silver and German...nothing like the Buicks and Camaroes that the neighborhood people drove. But Rusty looked again, and saw that the passenger wasn't a cold man. It was a kid. A kid who was staring right at Rusty. And in an act of joy and relief and life and hopefulness, Rusty bit into the plum, letting the sweetness fill his mouth. He looked back at the kid in the car and let the joy show on his face. And he spit the plum pit into his hand and clenched it like a talisman. Soon the car was almost down the block. He tracked it to the Ocean bungalow and watched as a tall, dark haired boy got out. Rusty faded into the shadows cast by a huge oak tree in the front yard. He saw the less than warm welcome the boy received and saw the driver leave. A few minutes later he saw Ms. Ocean stalking out of the house. He crept closer to the house and peeked in the window. He watched the boy until he stood up, a determined expression on his handsome face, and disappeared down the hallway.

Smile firmly in place, Rusty turned back towards home. His brain was once again working a mile a minute. But now, he was consumed with the memory of warm brown eyes, that shone with humor, confidence and determination. Rusty's mind whirled with thoughts that this was going to be an interesting summer after all.


	4. Chapter 4 Independence

Chapter Four - Independence

A/N - Yes, more "setting the stage"...hope its not too boring. No violence or anything icky this time though. Is that a pro or a con? There is action ahead though! It's mostly written and will be coming soon.

Disclaimer: Sadly, Danny and Rusty belong to others.

* * *

><p>Early on, Rusty took Danny to the diner to meet his mom. This was an easy, but essential step in their plan for summertime autonomy. Rusty was still young enough that his numerous friends and relations would raise holy hell if they knew he was running around the Jersey Shore unsupervised. So they had to lay the groundwork for Rusty's mom to claim that he was with somebody responsible. And frankly after Marco, the bar was really not that high.<p>

Given (a) the way Danny carried himself; (b) the way he spoke, _sooooo_ charmingly to Margie; and (c) that while Rusty's mom had passed on her beauty to her only son, his brains clearly came from a different set of genes, it was easy to get her approval. She eagerly saw Danny as an older teenager...someone responsible who would keep an eye on Rusty now that Marco was slogging through the mud, battling hummingbird sized mosquitoes and carrying a zillion pound pack at Parris Island.

At first Danny was reluctant to fool Margie. But Rusty pointed out that they weren't going to tell her a lie. They were just going to let her draw her own conclusion. And if Rusty had dropped hints about the sophisticated teenager staying with Cherie Ocean (who herself was practically responsibility incarnate) the one who had been so nice to him at the ball field, and how he would probably be a movie star some day...

It didn't take much. Danny's natural charisma had won over more suspicious women than Margie Borello.

Rusty just rolled his eyes and ate his way steadily through a double cheeseburger, tater tots and chocolate milk shake while Danny charmed his mom.

"Oooooh," Margie cooed approvingly, when Danny ordered the French Dip, "How sophisticated." Rusty cringed.

"The last time I was in New York, I saw Goldie Hawn on Park Avenue and her hair way cut just like yours. But I think yours looks more natural," Danny flattered.

Margie blushed prettily and looked very pleased. Rusty sighed and sucked on his milkshake.

He was very fond of his mom, but he often thought at at nearly 11 years old, he was the more grown up. He let his mind skip through memories of Margie. She'd been a very young mother, pregnant at 15 and giving birth at 16. When he was very small, she would treat him more like a baby doll than a real child. She delighted in his blond curls and big blue eyes. Luckily, for both of them, Rusty was a happy baby and contented child. He rarely cried (only when hungry) and kept himself entertained when she had guests.

"Oh, it's so kind of you to let Rusty show me around town." Danny smiled earnestly. Rusty played along, eyes wide, bobbing his head in agreement.

As he got older, she would occasionally lose her temper and shake him or slap him, especially when a guy wouldn't call for a second date once he learned about Rusty. But, afterwards, she would cry and pet him and feed him ice cream and say how sorry she was. And mostly she was pretty and funny. He wants her to be happy. And that means letting her think she's being a proper mommy and not giving the aunts a reason to criticize her, and not getting in the way of her social life. With Margie, out of sight was out of mind. The doll was safe on the shelf and she was off playing other games.

"Bye-bye Danny! Rusty is _sooooo_ lucky you saw him in the neighborhood and picked him to be your friend."

Danny looked sheepish, but Rusty just flashed him a grin. He agreed wholeheartedly with his mother. He was very lucky.

* * *

><p>The aunts and uncles were easy too. Well, the uncles were really easy. As long as the aunts weren't yapping at them to Do Something About Rusty, they were willing to let him be. They liked Danny just fine too. Kid didn't know his way around a carburetor, but held his own at darts and could bluff his way through a hand of 5 card draw like a pro. Kid needed to learn when to fold though.<p>

The aunts were appeased with weekly appearances at supper, or a bbq, or a luncheon following the newest baby's christening. They could see for themselves that Rusty was alive, being fed and still had 10 fingers and 10 toes. Danny suffered through their questions and cheek pats with his usual dignity and secretly collected embarrassing stories involving a really young Rusty, a cousin named Darla and a baby's diaper.

Easy.

* * *

><p>The only one left was Cherie. And they had no plan.<p>

"What about..."

"No the thing..."

"Oh right ..."

"We could ..."

"No, just no."

While there was absolutely no indication that Danny's aunt was at all interested in what her nephew was doing, it _was_ absolutely clear that she believed that she had a duty to shelter and provide for her brothers son. A home, food, clothing and an education. This was her duty. And Cherie Ocean had never once in her 59 years shirked her duty.

Danny was pretty certain that sense of duty did not include her nephew to be romping all over the Jersey Shore with one Rusty Ryan.

The weekdays weren't an issue. Cherie kept to her schedule, leaving well before Danny woke up in the morning. She would return around 7 in the evening and was in bed by 10. A note left on the kitchen table telling her he was at the boardwalk with friends satisfied her that he was alive and well. Thus, Danny had pretty much complete discretion about how he spent those days. He made sure the house was clean, that he kept to the Ocean high standards of personal grooming, and would leave his novels from the Dickinson summer reading syllabus in conspicuous spots around the house.

He never once contemplated using the Emergency Contact Number. Happily, the $20 was not in the Emergency Only category. Every day a new, crisp bill was tucked under his juice glass. Danny wanted to spend the money on lunch and movies. But Rusty was practical. "Save it. Hide it. We may need it someday." He grinned, "Plus, you need to practice your pulls." Danny wrestled him to the ground, both laughing.

But they were no closer to developing a Plan for Cherie.

They were free to come and go and spend unlimited time together Monday through Friday; weekends were another matter entirely. Duty expressed itself in trips to various cultural venues around the mid Atlantic. After New York and London, the Ocean Grove Arts Center was decidedly boring. (Sophistication and duty be damned! He was still a nearly -13 year old boy and wanted to be on the beach, with Rusty, running a pool on when Dominica Fretteri would let Sonny Diaz unbutton her blouse ).

Danny found the weekend trips were excruciating. He was uncomfortable with his aunt. They barely exchanged a dozen sentences the whole weekend. The snooty people (of quality) either ignored him, or asked intrusive questions about his dad. But mainly, he missed Rusty.

To make matters worse, Rusty was intensely curious about these jaunts. He demanded details about every dusty county museum, frumpy tea room, cocktail party and poorly produced theatrical event. He practically swooned when Danny showed him the detested jacket his aunt selected for this weeks open air musical production of My Fair Lady. (Danny didn't mind the dressing up, he was just miffed that he hadn't been consulted in the selection.)

They were in Danny's room, with the radio playing big band music in the background. Rusty was reverently stroking the linen and making Danny PROMISE to bring him a program, and to remember what everybody was wearing, and whether the canapés included anything like those little puff pastries Danny had smuggled home to him last week, and... when the sound of a stern "ahem!" shut him up mid sentence.

Danny looked up in alarm.

It was Cherie. Home early. No, they'd lost track of the time. They'd never discussed it, but both boys intuitively knew that Cherie would disapprove of Rusty hanging about. He was usually long gone by 7, but they'd gotten caught up in the music and knowing they wouldn't see each other for days. And now...

Looming in the doorway like a bird of prey or someone out of a Du Maurier novel, was Danny's aunt. Danny immediately made his face as emotionless, as neutral as possible. Rusty looked like he'd been caught with his hands in someone else's pocket. He'd never looked younger and Danny had never seen him look afraid. Danny broke a little bit inside seeing his brilliant, beautiful friend look so unsure of himself. He hadn't done anything wrong. There was nothing shameful about Rusty.

"Robert Charles Ryan."

"Yes, ma'm," Rusty managed not to squeak, but his bottom lip quivered.

"You are Margaret's child, yes? Florence Lucas was one of your teachers last year?"

"Yes, ma'm." He stuck to Marco's advice about how to respond when questioned by authority figures. Just stick to one word answers. Say sir or ma'm. Under no circumstances volunteer additional information.

She looked at him up and down. Pausing to take in his bare feet, last years shorts (that were just ever so slightly too short and fell squarely on the wrong side of respectable) and the threadbare (but vividly patterned) T-shirt, she frowned.

Rusty, who rarely cared about what other people thought of him, did his best not to cringe under this woman's gaze. Be brave...be brave, he told himself. He survived the cold men, he could face Cherie Ocean. He lifted his chin and looked her in the eye...and gasped. The scowl of disapproval he expected to see had been replaced with an expression of exasperated fondness.

Danny had kept his eyes on Rusty and saw the surprise flit across his face. He looked questioningly at his aunt. She met his eye and with a gesture that reminded him of his dad, she quirked her eyebrow at him. She imperiously waved them into the kitchen.

"Robert, please use the telephone on the counter and call your mother."

Danny still didn't know what was happening. He'd rarely been so off balance. Surely if she wanted Rus out of her house, she'd just tell him to go. Why would she humiliate him by calling his mother. He tried to catch Rusty's eye to apologize and reassure.

Rusty was already dialing, however, his back to Danny. He called the diner. "Hello, Ginger. It's Rusty. I'm fine, thanks, but can I please speak with my mom? Thanks." He forced himself not to twist the phone cord. Forced himself not to let his nerves show. Forced himself to keep the tremble out of his voice.

"Hi Mom, it's me...no, Danny is ok. Yes, I'm ok." Danny saw Cherie take note of that. A frown back on her face.

"Mom, I'm at Danny's house and Ms. Ocean would like to have a word with you. No, no, Mom. I don't know. Here she is." Cherie took the phone.

"Margaret," she barked into the phone, " I would like for Robert to accompany Daniel and myself out of town this weekend. He has no family obligations that would interfere with my plans? No. Excellent. I will write down our itinerary and provide you with the details. Questions? No, don't be ridiculous, Robert is our guest. Very well. Good day, Margaret."

She carefully placed the phone in the cradle and turned to face the boys. She kept her expression stern, but it took some effort. The urchins looked like they were going to be marched to the workhouse. She'd seen that look on her brother's face more than once. How she missed him. She cleared her throat. If possible, Danny and Rusty stood up straighter.

"Robert, I have had good reports of your academic abilities from Mrs. Lucas. She does not give idle compliments and is not easily impressed. I also make it my business to follow the news of the neighborhood. Aside from that unfortunate incident with the fire hydrant, you have never caused trouble. You also seem to be a fitting companion to Daniel and we would be pleased to have your company on our weekend excursions. While you are, of course free to decline..."

"No, no" Rusty interrupted, "I want to come. Thank you. Thank you Ms. Ocean. " He paused, glanced at the kitchen clock and looked upset. His lower lip did actually quiver and he bit it firmly. Danny's heart broke. He knew what his best friend was thinking. Even if he spent the rest of the evening working the crowds, there was no way he could pickpocket enough in time to have the right things for the trip. And Danny was just too much taller and broader to loan Rusty his things. Even the cache of saved spending money wouldn't be enough and anyways, Rusty wouldn't think about asking. And there no chance that his mother would...

"Is there a problem, Robert?" Cherie was frowning fiercely at Rusty. Danny was suddenly angry. How could she be so cruel? Rusty, immediately caught his mood and his intentions, and smoothly cut Danny off before he could go on a tirade.

"Ms. Ocean, ma'm, I am really so happy and grateful to be asked to accompany you and Danny. I've never done anything fancy, unless you count being a ring bearer at my Aunt Suzette's wedding in Jersey City ( the look on Cheries face said she most certainly did NOT) and that was 2 years ago, and I doubt the suit still fits..." He started to run out of steam, embarrassment warring with excitement. He was pretty sure this was going to be snatched away because he wasn't good enough, but unwilling to ask for anything more. "So, so, I'm sorry but I can't accept." He ran out of breath and sighed unhappily.

Danny grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. He wasn't sure if he did it to comfort Rusty or himself. Cherie saw it and harrumphed.

"Robert, Daniel...boys. Please have a seat." It wasn't really a request. They sat. Exchanged bewildered glances. They couldn't read her tone of voice. She sounded... stern but tired.

She turned away, reaching for glasses, ice and a pitcher of lemonade.

She poured each of them a glass and then sat down at the table. She looked at Rusty, stood up again and returned with a plate of store bought sugar cookies. She slid them across the table.

"Boys," she began again,"I am very much aware of my reputation in this neighborhood. It was fairly earned. However, no matter how high my expectations are for you, Daniel, and now for you, Robert," Rusty gaped at her a little bit, "I do not believe that embarrassing a young person is an effective means of education. Daniel, I have obviously failed in my duty to you, and your father, if you think I would take pleasure in humiliating your friend. " She looked at Rusty again with almost fond expression.

"Robert, if you would like to come with us this weekend, and it is of course YOUR choice, I will ensure that you are properly attired."

Rusty stared at her, his desire to shout with the unexpected joy of it all warring with his pride. He'd never been one for handouts. He might have to pick pockets or count cards to afford his lunch, but he'd never begged for anything. But he'd never been offered anything like this before, either. To see these amazing this. To be with Danny. Oh he wanted to say yes with all his heart. But...

She seemed to sense his dilemma. "I see you are a proud young man. Robert. Some call this a sin, which is nonsense. Others say excessive pride is a flaw in a young person, but I think it shows strength of character. A sense of honor. Nonetheless, there is character, and there is obstinacy.

If you feel that your honor requires that you somehow 'repay me' (and her voice was practically dripping with distaste from being forced to utter the phrase) rest assured we will work out a mutually acceptable arrangement. You are clever with machines, are you not? However, time is of the essence, and we must see to your wardrobe immediately. So drink your lemonade, wash your faces and meet me in the port cochere in 10 minutes."

And with that, Cherie Ocean sailed out of the room like an empress.

Danny and Rusty stared at each other.

"Did that...?"

"Just happen?"

"Yeah, I think..."

"Me too."

A moment of silence passed. Then grinned at each other.

"We'd better..."

"Oh yeah, I don't want to see what happens if we make her wait."

* * *

><p>The shopping trip to the Young Men's department at Bambergers department store was an experience neither Danny, nor Rusty would ever forget.<p>

Rusty was enthralled by the selection, the lights, the mirrored dressing rooms. Despite the need to shop quickly, before the store closed, he wouldn't make a single decision until he'd walked around the entire section, touching all the fabrics, looking at every option. He was giddy with excitement. He couldn't quite believe this was happening. No hand me downs, thrift stores this time.

Danny was enthralled watching Rusty. Danny didn't mind shopping. He like picking out fine woolen overcoats in the winter, silk scarves, crisp cotton and soft flannel. Danny took care to make sure his overall image was correct, and he was secretly (ha, Rusty's voice snorted in his head, some secret) happy with his classic good looks, but the details didn't interest him. He didn't care if his undershirt was woven from Egyptian cotton or designed his Italian leather shoes.

Rusty not only cared, he really really wanted to understand the pros and cons of each option. He discussed quality and stitching with Cherie in order to learn. He wanted to understand and not rely on somebody else to make his choices for him. Next time, he would choose for himself.

Danny, watched the proceedings from a comfy chair by the changing rooms. He had just noted a blind spot in the security camera's range of motion and observed that the senior clerk was skimming from the till, when he saw his friend circle back to a rack of shirts that were NOT on Cherie's List of Suitable Weekend Attire for Young Persons. This was the third time Rusty had returned to this display. Huh. He watched Rusty.

They were a selection of the ugliest shirts Danny had ever seen. Magenta and turquoise swirled together. Shiny copper fabric. A shade of lavender Danny doubted existed anywhere in nature. And Rusty wanted them. He was looking at these shirts the way he eyed caramel sundaes, peach pie, and Danny himself. He rubbed the satin against his cheek. And stroked the sleeves. Danny knew there was no way Cherie would _ever_ go for these shirts. She was kind about it though. She said Rusty should wait before choosing something this _festive_ until he visited Neiman Marcus in Philadelphia next month. Rusty was too excited about his purchases to argue, but he did cast a wistful glance back at the rack before allowing Cherie to lead him to the luggage department.

Danny smiled and strolled over to the shirts. And if that rack happened to be in the cameras blind spot...well. Somebody's birthday was coming up...

* * *

><p>The night before they left, Rusty slept over at Danny's for the first time.<p>

"Early start, crack of dawn," Cherie announced. "Best if you stay here, Robert. " She showed them how the trundle on Danny's bed worked and got them fresh linens and produced toiletries and pajamas that reminded Rusty of the PJs his 92 year old Pops wore after he had his hip replaced. They had a collar and a breast pocket and a pattern of anchors and whales and smelled like sunshine. Rusty loved them.

Of course, Rusty was too excited to sleep that night. He tried to be still, so as to avoid disturbing Danny, but his mind was spinning with a thousand divergent happy thoughts.

After a while, he couldn't bear staying still. Rusty slipped out of bed. He padded silently outside, his bare feet making no noise on the smooth hardwood floors. From the back porch, he could hear the waves crashing against the shore. It was a clear night and despite some light pollution from the casinos a few miles away, he could see thousands of stars whirling in the heavens. He took a deep breath and willed himself to relax.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, trying to empty his mind, but eventually, the screen door opened softly. It was Danny, dark hair sticking in every direction. He looked sleepy and confused. He was wearing blue pinstriped pajamas. They looked very soft, like they'd been worn and washed lots of times. Rusty, unselfconsciously reached out and touched the sleeve. Yep, so soft.

"Hey. There you are. I woke up and you were gone." Danny sounded concerned and fond and so sleepy.

"Can't sleep. It's all...just so...and sometimes if I look at the stars..."

"S'ok, Rus."

Danny sat down on the swing next to Rusty. The younger boy scooted over and laid his head on Danny's shoulder. Danny felt his heart just about burst. He put his arm around Rusty's thin shoulders and kissed his hair. He felt Rusty against snuggle against him.

Danny had a lovely voice. Even as an adolescent he was pleasant to listen to. No cracking or squeaking. No sudden changes in timbre. And as he spoke quietly that summer night, the sound of Danny talking soothed Rusty better than a lullaby. As he focused on Danny, his mind started to calm. As his brain settled, the tension slowly left him and he could relax.

"Once, a few years ago," Danny was saying, " my dad took me to the Hamptons for a few days." Rusty listened silently. Danny rarely shared personal stories from his past. "It was my first summer with him after the divorce. He'd borrowed this little yacht from his business partner and he taught me how to sail. One night we were anchored just off shore and it was too hot to sleep below, even out on the water, so we were on the deck. And the sky was just full of stars. Just like tonight. He showed me all the constellations and taught me to tell Mars from Anatares. He told me the myths and legends. He told me that when he had been my age, he dreamed of running off to sea with just the North Star as his guide."

Danny sighed and was quiet for a while.

Rusty held his breath. Mesmerized by Danny's voice. Utterly still, not wanting to spoil the moment.

Danny lifted the arm that wasn't wrapped around Rusty. He pointed, "That really bright star, the one above that tallest pine tree, that is Pollux. It's the brightest star in the constellation Gemini. In Greek mythology..." And he talked softly, until Rusty's eyes drooped. Danny eased them off the swing and back to bed, where they slept soundly until dawn.

* * *

><p>The weekend trip was an unqualified success. When Danny joked and called it Rusty's debut, Rusty punched him in the shoulder, but was secretly delighted at the idea.<p>

Rusty was caught up in the newness of a world heretofore unknown to him. There was enough novelty to keep even his brain content. And his unselfconscious pleasure at the experience had even stiff old Cherie smiling indulgently on occasion. Her sense of duty was doubly satisfied. She was noblesse oblige personified, educating young Robert, providing opportunities that silly twit of a mother would never even think to give him.

Robert was intelligent, polite and once he was dressed in proper clothing, he cut a properly respectful and handsome little figure. She even admitted, just to herself, mind you, that she liked the little imp. He delighted in every new experience, although the look on his faced when Danny explained foie gras ... priceless. It helped that his golden good looks absolutely in no way reminded her of her brother.

Even more satisfactory, was the positive effect Robert had on her nephew. She wasn't kidding herself. She knew she wasn't capable of helping the boy come to terms with the loss of his father. She had never been demonstrative and had no patience for emotional displays. She knew it wasn't healthy for the boy to keep it all inside, but she knew she wouldn't be the one he'd share with.

So she was quite pleased to observe that in Robert's company, Daniel was finally losing his air of stoic resignation. He was relaxed and even seemed happy. Oh he was still frightfully formal and polite with her, but Cherie herself utilized that defense mechanism, and the world could use more in the way of formality.

Being satisfied that the two friends would take care of each other, she allowed herself to retreat behind her wall of carefully constructed indifference and silence and duty. She was comfortable there. She was safe behind that wall. And if she would occasionally emerge to check in on the progress of the boys, she told herself it was just her duty.

* * *

><p>As for Danny, having Rusty along on the weekend jaunts more than made them bearable, even made them enjoyable. Rusty, with his zeal for life, made the trips fun. He saw each new experience through fresh eyes. Rusty had no preconceptions about the places, or the people and his irreverent sense of humor and wickedly sharp observations often had Danny shaking with laughter.<p>

For example, Rusty didn't expect Cecelia Davidson's garden party to be dead dull, so it wasn't. They played games, challenging each other to spot who wore the fake Rolex, which society matron was drinking gin instead of lemonade, who the mean girls were and how to avoid them.

When Dash Davidson, arrogant son of their hostess, made one of the caterers cry, Danny and Rusty exchanged a look and acted swiftly. By the end of the evening, Dash found himself staggering out of the pool cabana wearing heart covered boxer shorts, clutching a rubber chicken and trying in vain to explain to his mother why he tried to smoke the garnish from the punch bowl.

Rusty visited every local museum, that Cherie pointed him towards. He was fascinated with it all, from the dubious Native American pottery, to salvaged treasures from wrecked 19th century trading ships, and even the mediocre water colors donated to the local museums by the daughters of industrialists. He told Danny it was good to know the trash from the treasure.

And Danny, who had a deeply generous spirit, was happy to just experience these things with Rusty. If these provincial entertainments pleased his friend so much, Danny thought, just wait until I can show him Manhattan and Boston and Paris. Wait until he sees the Mona Lisa and a real Warhol, the London Symphony.

So, in the end, they boys didn't need to figure out a plan for Cherie. She had figured out a plan for them. Big picture and details all accounted for.

* * *

><p>And so the summer fell into a kind of rhythm. Weekdays, the boys roamed the shore, soaking up sunshine and salt water. Just as Danny exposed Rusty to new pursuits, the younger boy gave Danny a different type of education: how to tell the difference between a mark drunk enough to be easy target versus one drunk to be paranoid and vicious. Which of the dice games were rigged. And who among the old cons gathered along the boardwalk would teach them how to run a Flying Dutchman just for the price a bottle of cheap scotch and the pleasure of a willing audience.<p>

On rainy days, they would go to the movies or to the library. Danny was a voracious reader, and passed the trait on to Rusty. While Rusty gravitated towards nonfiction and informational texts (he once spent an entire Wednesday transfixed with a manual on SCUBA gear) Danny was a romantic at heart. After reading both the local newspaper and the NY Times (required reading at Dickinson and a long ingrained habit) he would settle down with tales of Captain Kidd and Blackbeard, of sunken treasure and gold doubloons; bravery and betrayal; love and loss; treasure maps and secret codes taken to the grave.

And in the evenings, when they were snuggled on the porch swing back at the bungalow (Rusty had pretty much stopped sleeping at his house; checking in as required; but never missed; never looked for) Danny would retell the stories, getting more pleasure from sharing them with his best friend than from reading them the first time.

And when he was an old man, Rusty would think back on his childhood and remember the sound of the waves, the dazzling night sky, and puff of Danny's breath on his neck as he spoke. He remembered it with absolute clarity. And he was happy.


	5. Chapter 5 - Pirates? Seriously?

A/N - Heartfelt thanks to everyone who has commented and favorited. This is my first fic ever, and your encouragement is what keeps me going. Thank you all very much.

A/N - Finally, finally after all the buildup there will be _some_ _action_ in this chapter. And the next one, which is almost complete! Thanks for sticking with the boys during this monumental build up.

A/N - The wreckage of the Titanic was found in September 1985 by a team of American and French researchers. The NY Times article Danny reads is this one:

/1985/09/03/science/wreckage-of-titanic-reported-discovered-12000-feet-down

For info about the history alluded to at the beginning of the fic, see: /articles/?articleID=17181

A/N - In canon, the boys would be older than I describe them here. So you can either pretend the guys were younger in the movies (Danny would be pleased) or that the discovery of the wreck took place a few years earlier than in RL. I am trying to create sort a hazy, childhood memory feel in this fic, and I don't intend to stick to a strictly reality based anything, timeline included. So pick your own interpretation.

* * *

><p><em>July 3, 1980; 9 o'clock am<em>

_Somewhere in the Barrier Islands off the coast of New Jersey_

Danny and Rusty watched the little speedboat zoom away from the island ("glorified sandbar," Danny grumbled). In hindsight, it had probably not been a good idea to antagonize Ziggy (who could predict that the great klutz would fall overboard.) But when the ham-fisted bully shoved Rusty for the nth time that day, Danny couldn't help himself.

He looked down at Rusty. He was dripping wet, thin cotton T-shirt plastered against his thin frame. His bottom lip was puffy and he was holding his arm awkwardly. He was staring forlornly at the rapidly disappearing boat.

Danny, for once, didn't look much better. His face was red from too much sun and wind. His lips were chapped and if they didn't find water, soon they'd be cracked. Danny hated that. There was sand in his hair, his ears and his...well ... elsewhere. He hated that too. At least he wasn't injured. Once he'd gotten his breath back, that punch to the stomach was forgotten. Yeah, pissing off Ziggy wasn't his best move.

The wind was picking up and by the look of the sky, and the height of the surf, a storm was coming. A big storm. Danny sighed. This was not at all part of the plan. This was not how he was supposed to be spending his birthday.

* * *

><p><em>Ten days ago...<em>

Danny walked into kitchen, folded newspaper under his arm. Rusty was already attacking the breakfast Cherie has left out for them. It was the usual cold cereal, fruit and juice. Cherie didn't approve of Danny's coffee habit, so he had to either brew his own, or wait for take out. He glanced at Rusty's bowl. Huh. How had he convinced Cherie to buy Lucky Charms...and were those extra marshmallows? Ok that, plus the sight of Rusty Ryan decked out in neon tie dye definitely called for a full pot of coffee.

While Danny fiddled with the machine, Rusty opened up the newspaper. "Danny, Danny, they did it! They found it!"

Rusty spread the NY Times out on the table. The headline read:

**WRECKAGE OF TITANIC REPORTED DISCOVERED 12,000 FEET DOWN**

The Titanic. The name conjured images of a by gone era. Glamour, tragedy, treasure buried beneath the cold waters of the North Atlantic.

Like so many others throughout time, they were swept up in the romance and tragedy of it all. And naturally, being Danny and Rusty, they thought about treasure.

Ever practical, Rusty immediately put the kibosh on Danny's first plan. "I know you spent nearly a month on a yacht and can navigate by the light of the moon using a spoon and a pinch of salt, but Danny, it's just too far away."

Danny pouted a bit, "The part about the spoon was a bit harsh." But he acquiesced, and there was no more talk about heading to Newfoundland to con the Argo team into to giving them a crack at salvage. But he'd still bet they'd have bought the summer intern bit.

Only slightly deterred, Danny set his sights on closer waters. Much closer.

The history of the Jersey Shore is practically a history of sunken ships, salvage, trade and treasure. School kids learn about Captain Kidd, The Sinda, and Edward Teach.

Even the wax museum on the boardwalk has a lurid scene of a wrecked sailing ship, complete with sailors dying horribly while pirates pull crates of silk, china and gold from the waves. Rusty has a fascination for the tableau. He claims it's because of the history. Danny claims it's because he covets the ruffled shirt and green velvet coat the pirate captain is wearing. Rusty pulls a face, but doesn't deny it.

Throughout the colonial period and after independence, trading vessels hugged the coast in an often futile attempt to avoid pirates. Treacherous conditions, fierce storms, bad lighthouses. Hundreds died in these waters. Sometimes the cargo was recovered...sometimes not.

In this century, bootleggers, human traffickers and drug smugglers took advantage of the poorly patrolled waters to move their cargo and the ill gotten gains...cash, gold, diamonds, drugs. They faced the same unpredictable currents, wicked storms and cutthroat competition. They got the same results. Sometimes lost cargo was recovered, sometimes not.

World Wars didn't put a halt to it either. One of the more popular local tales involved German U boats prowling the shore, not only to disrupt shipping, but to hunt for pirate gold. Gold that the Hitler's Third Reich desperately needed to fund the war.

The truth seemed stranger than fiction. Fantasy and reality twined together until the latter stopped and the former began. The more Danny heard, however, the more he was convinced that there was a nugget (gold nugget) of truth to the legends. Rusty wanted proof.

The old con on the boardwalk, Joe, swore on his granny's grave that he had a piece of an original copy of a map that led to an undiscovered cache of blood rubies, hidden by Blackbeard himself. The pirate captain was executed before he could return for the treasure, but as fate would have it, one of the crew had memorized the spot and secretly did some weird secret thing secretly to remember the secret location. That crew member, naturally, was Joe's distant ancestor.

Rusty just laughed, handed him some cash and started to walk away. All this nautical talk made him hungry for cracker jacks. But Danny lingered. Rusty bumped his shoulder.

"Ok, Danny?"

"Hmmmm?"

Rusty sighed melodramatically. He made a big production of steering Danny away from the old man and aimed him back toward the walkway.

"You do realize that along with that map, Joe would sell you the location of the Lost City of Atlantis and the deed to the Garden State Mall."

Danny looked at him curiously. "What?" He shook his head, "no Rus. I _know_ that. I was just thinking."

"Oh," Rusty perked up a bit. "You have a plan?"

"Not yet. Need to do some research."

* * *

><p>The research involved studying maps of the coastline, scouring old newspapers for accounts of shipwrecks, and making a list of any of Rusty's relatives who were alive before 1940. The list was shockingly small.<p>

"Maybe I should be concerned about some kind of genetic time bomb, an incurable mutation,'" Rusty fretted.

Danny watched him devour a chili dog in three bites and thought about middle school health class and processed pork products and coronary disease. "Yeah. It's a real medical mystery."

Old timers identified, the next step of the plan called for grilling them for what Danny called "Useful Intel" and Rusty claimed was the ramblings of failing minds. But, the "intel gathering" counted as a weekly family visit with the aunts, so he submitted with surprisingly good grace.

It was easy to persuade the old men to reminisce. Danny and Rusty spent an enjoyable day playing cards and listening to Pops and his buddies talk about their time in the War. Of course they'd heard about the Nazi gold, but dismissed it as fantasy. "A'course, you boys want to hear about the real loot that's out there, from way back in the days, that smuggler's gold, you need to go see Edna." Rusty blanched. Danny looked thoughtful. Hmmmmm...

"Just remember, Danny. I'm doing this for you."

"I know Rus. I'd never think otherwise. And I am counting on you to never let me forget it." He grinned smugly.

"You can be pretty demanding."

"I can? ... Oh, oh, I can, can't I?" The grin was gone. Rusty didn't like that, so he punched him in the arm.

"Hey, s'ok, Danny, if you weren't so demanding, how could I keep making the impossible happen for you?" Rusty laughed and punched him again and it was ok. "But _you _will be the one taking the lead with Great Aunt Edna. She really is impossible, and I refuse to get within pinching range."

As it turned out, gaining an audience with Great Aunt Edna was no easy thing. There was a narrow window of time, immediately after lunch, when Edna would see visitors.

If one was fortunate enough to be granted an appointment, the lucky visitor next had to climb to the top floor of the old Victorian pile that she lived in with her son, Eddie, his wife, oddly called Aunt Mrs. and their numerous, loud, and interchangeable raven haired offspring.

Danny speculated that Great Aunt Edna lived in the suite at the top of the house to get some peace and quiet. Rusty told him it was so she could force Aunt Mrs. to walk up the steep staircase 3x a day to deliver her meals.

Once the stairs were climbed, the fortunate visitor was expected to ...

"Sacrifice his soul"

"Shut up Rusty"

"Sacrifice a chicken."

"You're not funny."

The visitor was expected to provide Edna with a small token of his esteem. Danny wanted to bring flowers. Rusty advised gin. Gin it was.

So the next day, bearing the largest bottle of Tanqueray they could trade for, and only slightly winded from the climb up a rickety staircase, with the snarky, yet faithful Rusty at his side providing color commentary, Danny found himself knocking at Edna's door.

A surprisingly loud, clear, demanding voice bid them enter. The tone seemed familiar...where had he heard it before? Huh. He stepped through the door into a dimly lit, and very, very warm room. Heavy damask drapes covered the windows. An ancient candelabra hung from the center of the ceiling; a dozen candles, all colors of the rainbow lit the room. It smelled of lilacs and vanilla and a spicy tobacco. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, but when they did he blinked in astonishment.

There before him, wrapped in an iridescent silk caftan, a fortune in diamonds around her wrist, wearing a thick application of the reddest lipstick he'd ever seen, was a bedazzled version of Rusty Ryan...if Rusty were 80 years old. And a woman. And wore lipstick. Oh, this was gonna be fantastic!

For Danny, who could read people as easily as a novel, and who never forgot a face, the resemblance was unmistakable. Granted, genetic throwbacks aren't all that unusual. Green eyes and a tendency towards dimples and double jointedness popped up in the Ocean gene pool with enough regularity.

But Rusty's family was definitely of a _type_. Dark hair, generous mouths, Roman nose. The only naturally fair haired people Danny had seen were Rusty and his mother. Danny assumed they inherited their looks from Margie's mother, a buxom blonde from Minnesota who had been working as a showgirl at the casino when she met Margie's dad. She died of lung cancer when Margie was very young. Her husband followed shortly thereafter. "Died of a broken heart," the aunts whispered. The uncles just snorted, "More like cirrhosis," they'd say cynically.

And maybe ... maybe because Danny had recently lost the only member of his family who'd ever told him he was special, who was the only person who'd ever said "I love you, my son, my precious boy. I am proud of you." Maybe Danny wanted family connections to be meaningful. Maybe he felt that blood should be thicker than water. Maybe he felt that Rusty, who drifted alone in this sea of friends and relations, deserved a connection with someone who saw him for the amazing kid he is, who could protect him and love him, or at least see him. Maybe he wanted that for Rusty.

So, when Danny saw Edna sitting like a queen on a hot pink chaise, wearing the exact same expression of bemusement that he'd seen a million times on Rusty's face, he may have lost his mind a little bit. He may have immediately fallen a little bit in love with this woman. Before a single minute passed he trusted her. He handed over his heart.

If Rusty had been paying attention, he would have been shocked. Not that Danny thought he deserved love and protection and other good things. But he would have been surprised that Danny thought he didn't have it already. Rusty _knows_ he has it- with Danny. It's all he needs. The connection he had with Danny is all Rusty wants. He doesn't need it, or expect it, from anybody else. Especially from Edna.

Rusty would also be surprised and suspicious of the notion that a superficial physical resemblance could translate into some kind of deep, visceral connection. Rusty had learned not to trust what lies on the surface. Beauty could conceal a cruel heart. Trust had to be earned. Love wasn't automatically a part of shared DNA.

But Rusty especially would have been shocked at the speed with which Danny lost his heart to Edna. If he'd noticed, Rusty would have paid closer attention to how she treated Danny, what she took from him, and whether she gave anything in return.

But since he didn't know to look for it, because Rusty was a little bit miserable at being in this stifling attic with his crazy aunt, and with the very strange feeling of having forgotten something important, it took a while for him to see what was going on. And then it was too late. Danny was captivated.

Edna immediately spied the gin and made grabby hands at Danny. Diamonds flashed in the candlelight. "Ahhh." She licked her lips greedily. Rusty wasn't sure if the appreciation was directed at the booze or at Danny. Knowing his family, it was the booze.

"Now, do as I say, darling, and just slip this into my lingerie drawer...else that horrible woman will take it for herself. She claims it's not good for my health. That's what she tells Eddie and he falls for it. How could my own son be so blind to that creature's ways."

She paused for breath and then really looked at Danny with sharp blue eyes, Rusty's eyes. "Hmmmm. You're new. New is good. Rest of them are all boring." She spared a glance at Rusty. "Don't mean you, boy. You may be many things, none of them good, but I doubt you're _boring_." Rusty just shrugged. He just wanted to find out if she knew anything about the gold (which he doubted) and get out of there.

"Aunt Edna, this is Danny Ocean. Aunt Edna, Pops told us you might be able to tell us about..." She cut in.

"Ocean...Ocean...ahhhh that's why you look like a memory come to life. A good memory. My Charlie's best friend was one of the Ocean boys. Ethan. Didn't make it back from France. Tragic. Charlie was never the same. Started taking risks. Left part of himself back there in a trench with that boy." She was studying Danny with an intent, hungry look on her face.

She ignored Rusty. "You, Ethan's boy," she waved at Danny, "sit here and talk to me." Danny sat down carefully on a scarlet velveteen footstool. It was awkward for someone with his long legs, but he made it look like it was the most comfortable seat he'd ever sat upon in his life. She beamed her approval.

Edna indicated a large enameled lighter. Danny gallantly lit a long, thin cigarillo that she waved around, using it to punctuate the soliloquy that followed. The tobacco added to the cloying smell in the room. Rusty would have given up Thanksgiving dinner for a breath of fresh air.

Despite everything, she was a good storyteller who could skillfully read her audience. Danny kept his eyes locked onto her the whole time, nodding at the beginning, eventually gasping at the dramatic parts and once, to Rusty's chagrin, reaching out to grasp Edna's delicate hand and clasp it lightly in his. She knew how to draw out the story and keep Danny coming back for more.

On their first visit, she wove a tale of her youth, of a time before she met the divine Charlie. She was born on January 1, 1900, a real baby new year for the new century.

Her father, who doted on her, owned a resort here on the shore. Wealthy industrialists and the cream of society vacationed there. She grew up surrounded by money, beauty and power. She was indulged and beautiful and had no goals other than to marry a handsome scion of industry and perhaps one day travel to India.

She told Danny all about balls, scandals, and highly dubious account of one beautiful, hot tempered young man challenging another beautiful, hot tempered young man to a duel because he insulted Edna.

Rusty sweated in the corner of the room, tempted to leave with a souvenir, something to make this whole thing worthwhile, because they certainly weren't getting any "intel." He had his eye on a small polished metal figure of a hunting cat and was about to make his move. He glanced up and saw Edna staring at him. She couldn't know what he was thinking. But she tutted gleefully and shook her cigarillo at him. She didn't seem angry, just very amused.

Rusty stuck his hands in his pockets and thought longingly about Newfoundland.

After a while, they heard a timid tapping at the door. Aunt Mrs. meek as milk, announced that it was time for the boys to go since "Dear Aunt Edna needed her beauty sleep." Dear Aunt Edna looked fit to be tied. Cursing colorfully, she gripped Danny's hand. "Come back tomorrow,"she whispered. "That shrew interrupted us before I could tell you where Charlie hid the gold."

Danny's smile could have melted an iceberg. He leaned down and kissed her papery cheek. "Until tomorrow."

He started to move away. She pulled him back, with surprising strength.

"Don't forget my present" she whispered. And with big wink she pinched his bottom.

* * *

><p>Rusty was irritable. He was hot and hungry and the lilac gave him a headache. Danny poked him in the shoulder and teased that he was just jealous that Edna liked him more than Rusty.<p>

"I will not even dignify that with a response." And then he proceeded to do exactly that, culminating with a small (small for Rusty that is) rant.

"Seriously, Danny. She's crazy. She lives completely in the past. She was probably crazy 50 years ago. Now... now she thinks you are her dead sweethearts dead friend. She calls you _Ethan_! She _doesn't_ keep her hands to herself. That room is a hundred degrees and it _smells_ funny. But I could tolerate it all if she _knew_ something. But she doesn't. She doesn't know anything useful."

"Awww, Rus, she's just lonely. She knows better than to tell all on the first visit. She's gonna want to draw this out because we are the only company she gets. I don't think she's half as crazy as she appears. Or else she's crazy like a fox. Yeah, you're right, she lives in the past, but it's in that the past that we will find the answers to where the gold is." He paused for a minute, and then told Rusty the truth, "and...I like her."

Rusty grumbled, "Yeah, I know you do. And the feeling is apparently mutual."

He looked at Rusty fondly. "Hey, don't let her get to you." He pulled Rusty's arm. "Come on, let's go get a milkshake."

* * *

><p>Over the next week, for at least an hour in the afternoon, during the hottest part of the summer day, Danny and Rusty would have an audience with Edna. Rusty sought out a dark corner by the bull's-eye window, where he might catch a bit of a breeze. He half listened to Edna's stories, and half dozed, the heat and boredom making him dopey. He still couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something important, but was too hot and sluggish to really care too much.<p>

Meanwhile, Danny was enjoying every minute with the grand old dame. He tried to focus on the plan, on learning whether there was actual gold treasure, and if so, clues to its hiding spot. But it was so easy to fall under the spell of Edna's rather lovely voice. It reminded him of his father's whiskey and of honey and smoke. That voice took him back in the past and tempted him with tales of love and betrayal.

The voice spoke of meeting Charlie for the first time. "Love at first sight. Don't be cynical. There is such a thing." Danny wouldn't have dreamed of contradicting her.

A whirlwind romance, plans to marry. But her controlling and social climbing father thought she could make a better match. He refused permission to wed and since Edna wasn't yet 18 she couldn't legally object. Despite Charlie's begging her, she wouldn't defy her father by eloping.

Charlie was heartbroken. He and his best friend Ethan ran off to Canada, volunteering to fight for the British in the muddy fields of France. Four years later Charlie returned home, with one visible scar on his face and many invisible scars on his soul. Ethan did not come home at all.

Edna was old enough now to marry without her father's permission. But Charlie, who had returned from war a harder and changed man, vowed to make enough money to convince even her father that he was good enough for Edna. The quickest way to earn a million dollars was to smuggle whiskey and gin and rum into the speakeasies and private clubs up and down the seaboard.

It was dangerous. The authorities kept a sharp eye on casino towns. The Irish mobs were brutal with anyone who encroached on their territory. Customers would cheat, intimidate and steal from you.

Charlie's suppliers were 6 rough guys from British controlled Bermuda, who would sail up to the wild, isolated islands off the coast. He picked up the booze and paid them gold in return. He spent many a cold, lonely night out on those isles waiting for dangerous men who would kill you as soon as shake your hand. After a while, he spent more time living half wild on the islands than in town.

* * *

><p>Edna worried about Charlie, but she was secretly thrilled by the stories of danger and adventure. And eventually she convinced him to take her out to his hideout. They stole out of town at on a foggy spring night. She remembered the lighthouse dancing eerily on the shore. She was still naive enough to find it all terribly romantic. It was still all just a game.<p>

Life at the island hideaway wasn't as glamorous or romantic as she expected. But she was young and in love. She never once doubted that once Charlie made his fortune they would give up primitive island living, return home, get married and live happily ever after.

When she became pregnant, she started to plead with Charlie to give up the dangers of bootlegging. They argued bitterly. She accused him of not loving her. He accused her of only loving the trappings of society and wanting him caged. They fought, wept and made love, over and over.

Eventually, Charlie promised Edna that he just needed one more run and he'd quit smuggling and they would go back to the mainland and build a respectable life together. The last job would be a long one, all the way to Jamaica, so Charlie took Edna back to the mainland and ensconced her in the new Victorian manor he'd built for her when he heard about the baby.

Her friends and family were relieved that she was home. She kept her pregnancy secret. She wanted to have Charlie by her side, and a wedding ring on her finger, when they announced the news.

After a week passed, Edna started to get anxious, but Charlie had assured her that the job would be long. She tried to be patient.

After a month, she admitted she was worried. She tried to contact some of Charlie's business associates, but no one had heard from him in some time.

After three months, there was no hiding her condition. Her family was appalled and she was in disgrace. Edna started to wonder if Charlie was dead. Her sister, Bea, the only family member who would still be seen with Edna, gently suggested that Charlie hadn't been ready to settle down and accept the responsibilities of a wife and baby.

Edna was furious at the suggestion, screaming that Bea was jealous of her love. That Bea was trapped in a loveless, childless marriage and couldn't stand to see anyone happy. Gentle Bea wouldn't be driven away, however, and it was she, not Charlie at Edna's side when she delivered a baby boy. And it was Bea who raised the child as her own, giving him legitimacy and stability and a name.

And a year to the day, that Charlie had kissed her passionately and sailed away south, she accepted an invitation to attend a dance with Edward Leighton, the respectable eldest son of a respected table businessman. They were married soon thereafter.

* * *

><p>Danny had sat in rapt silence as the tale unfolded. He'd not said a word, just let her talk. Always alert, though, he noticed how Edna's gaze rested on Rusty as she talked about the birth of Charlie's son. Well that was one mystery solved.<p>

Danny poured Edna a drink and gave her time to come back to herself before asking, "Did you never hear from him, Edna? Did you never learn what happened to him?"

He didn't dare say it aloud, but the unasked question, the purpose of the visits hung in the air, "Did you ever go back for the gold safely hidden at the island compound? Will you tell me where it is?"

But Edna was done speaking for the day. She smiled mysteriously, but refused to say another word.

* * *

><p>When the boys arrived the next day Aunt Mrs. met them at the door. Instead of just waving them up the stairs, she beckoned to them. They followed her into her immaculate kitchen where she offered Tang and pretzel sticks. Rusty munched happily, but Danny only sipped at his drink. When Aunt Mrs. sat down at the table, they exchange glances. Something was up.<p>

"What is it, Auntie," rusty asked. "Is everybody ok? Is somebody sick?

Danny spoke up,"It's Edna, isn't it?" For a moment he thought all that gin had possibly been a big mistake.

Aunt Mrs. tried to look reassuring, "Oh boys, I'm sure it's nothing serious. She is in her 80s after all. This heat can be hard on her and she hasn't been sleeping well. We hear her up at all hours, playing that scratchy old music from her youth. She collapsed last night. The doctor was here this morning and says her heart sounds good. She just needs her rest. "

"Will you tell her we stopped by? Will you tell her we hope she feels better soon?" Rusty was a little surprised that he actually meant it.

Aunt Mrs. Smiled, "Of course." The boys were getting up to leave when she said, "Oh! How silly of me! I almost forgot." She drew something out of her voluminous apron pocket. "She asked, well she _told_ me to make sure you got these."

Danny got a parchment envelope that was sealed with an honest to god wax signet. Rusty got something lumpy balled up in a sheet of newspaper and tied with a dirty shoelace.

* * *

><p>They hurried back to the bungalow to see what Edna had given them. Rusty didn't hold out much hope, but Danny had felt a little thrill when he held the envelope.<p>

He used Cherie's silver letter opener to carefully break the seal. A fat gold coin fell out. The boys looked at each other in astonishment.

"What else is in there?" Danny withdrew a folded piece of parchment. It was old, but not crumbling with age. Still, he handled it very carefully. They opened it up to see a hand drawn map of the Jersey Shore. From all the research they'd done, it was easy to recognize Shelby Island at the center. The myriad of little islets and coves and lagoons weren't labeled, but clear as day, right beside a horse shoe shaped island was a big X. The other side of the paper showed more detail of the island.

It was an honest to god treasure map.

* * *

><p>Rusty spent the next two days gathering supplies. He scrounged camping gear from his twin cousins, who had been enthusiastic scouts until puberty hit.<p>

Danny found him sitting on a mound of sleeping bags, water resistant matches and enough snack food to stock a 7-11, rubbing his mouth.

Hmmm...not a good sign. "What is it?" Danny asked. "No luck with the collapsible shovels?"

Rusty looked up gloomily. "Nah...Mitch traded his for first crack at the porno mags Marco left under his mattress."

"It's just if this map is even close to accurate...if I'm reading it correctly, and I like to think I am, then even if we get the tourist ferry out to Shelby, we still have no way to get to Horseshoe." They were calling the small island where they hoped to find Charlie's hidden gold 'the horseshoe' for obvious reasons and hoped it's symbolically lucky name held true too.

Danny got it immediately, "We need transportation."

Rusty nodded.

Danny said confidently, "Leave it to me."

* * *

><p><em>Back to the present time...<em>

Rusty stared forlornly at the departing speedboat. "Please tell me this was not part of the plan?"

Danny looked sheepish for a moment, "No...No! Sheesh, Rus."

The plan, in fact, was to have pretended to be two kids heading out to the state park on Shelby Island for an overnight camping trip. Danny had convinced a skeptical Cherie that it was the only thing he really, really wanted to do for his 13th birthday. It explained the gear and the overnight absence. The sticking point was a chaperon. Sometimes being a kid put a real kink in their plans.

Where normally, Rusty's cousin Marco could be counted on to cover for them, he was still away at boot camp. Rusty didn't trust any of his other cousins.

"So that leaves..."

"Ziggy."

Rusty sighed deeply, "Ziggy."

Ziggy was a burly 19 year old high school dropout who used to work on cars with Rocky and Marco. Now, he helped out at his dad's boat rental business. He'd take tourists around in speed boats and tinker with boat motors and ogle the girls. He didn't like Danny and Rusty, but he had access to transportation, knew how to keep his mouth shut, and most importantly, he could be bought.

So for the negotiated price of: answers to the next state GED test, Judy Pearson's telephone number and a carton of Marlboro's, Danny and Rusty had an alibi and transportation direct to Horseshoe Island. Ziggy would drop them and their gear off in the morning and come back by evening the next day. They let Ziggy believe they wanted to go out to the creepy place to drink beer and smoke cigarettes. No inkling of anything else. Good plan.

The plan fell apart about 5 miles off the shore. Danny was at the wheel of the boat. He'd slipped Ziggy $20 for the privilege. In hindsight, this may have been a mistake. It left Ziggy with his mind and hands unoccupied.

Ziggy really didn't like Danny and Rusty. He spent the entire trip bitching that for a couple of kids they were too cocky (basically true, but Rusty was quick to point out that confidence was a _good_ _thing_) too smart (again Rusty was quick to note that without their intelligence, how was Ziggy going to get the answers to that GED) and here was the real kicker in Ziggys book - too popular with the ladies. (This one left Rusty temporarily speechless and Danny smirking.)

Having worked himself up into a state of righteous indignation over the inequitable distribution of socially desirable traits, Ziggy fell back on what he knew...pushing people around. And like every bully he went right for the little guy, the supposedly easy target...he went for Rusty.

It started out with roughhousing, a playful punch that was just this side of too hard, a jab to the back of the head, a shove here, a push there. Rusty didn't look happy about it, but he would just come back with clever remarks and jokes that went right over Ziggy's head. Rusty'd dealt with this class of moron all his life.

Danny, however, was getting upset. He hated bullies on principle, and he couldn't stand watching Rusty get picked on. Sure, he knew, logically, that Rus could take care of himself, but emotionally, Danny was getting closer and closer to losing his temper.

The last straw was when Ziggy yanked Rusty's arm really hard, wrenching his elbow. Rusty tried to hide it, but Danny saw real pain flash across his face and he clutched his shoulder just a bit too long.

Danny cut the power and let the little boat drift. He strode back to Ziggy and got in his face. Now even though Danny had just that very day turned 13 years old, he was tall and had broad shoulders. He'd been a swimmer and a junior crew member and had decent upper body strength. He was at least 50 lbs lighter than Ziggy, but the older teen stepped back when Danny strode up looking pissed off.

Ziggy spluttered, "Hey man, back off, you don't wanna try to fight me."

And Danny gave home his most charming grin, "Oh, I'd never dream of fighting you, Ziggy. We're all buddies here, right, just some horseplay, right?"

And as Ziggy was blustering some nonsense about Danny knowing his place, and Rusty learning to keep his damn mouth shut, Danny hooked his foot around a tow rope and slid it into Ziggy's path. The rope stretched taunt. Ziggy flailed his arms inelegantly and he lost his balance. Splash. Hmmmmmm.

* * *

><p>They may have gotten away with claiming it was an accident if he hadn't tumbled overboard. Or if Rusty hadn't doubled over with laughter. Or if Danny hadn't let go of Ziggy's hand, not once, not twice, but three times, before hauling him back on board.<p>

Still, who expected that Ziggy would be such a poor sport. He dumped them at the next sand bar, flipped them the finger, and sped away.

Definitely not part of the plan.


	6. Chapter 6 - Danny and the Gold Doubloons

A/N – Sadly, I don't own Danny and Rusty.

A/N – Little reminder: when we were last with our intrepid heroes, they had just been dumped on a sandbar, with no gear, by the wrathful Ziggy. Will they be forced to abandon their quest for the lost gold?

* * *

><p>"Ok, what's next?"<p>

Danny eyes the approaching storm, judged the distance to the next islet in the chain. It was about a half mile away. Normally a distance they could both easily swim. He tried to look casual and assess how damaged Rusty's arm was. He couldn't just ask him. Rusty wouldn't admit that anything less than total amputation would slow him down.

Rusty, as usual, read his mind. "I'll be fine. But we should go now. Before the storm hits."

Danny nodded. "Let's make it to that one." He pointed to a small wooded island.

"Horseshoe should be next in line. Hopefully, if we can't make it all the way, this one will have something in the way of shelter."

They made it to the next island just as rain started falling. They were already soaked, and it was warm, so it didn't bother them. Danny didn't want to risk striking out for Horseshoe at this point, so they looked for shelter.

The wind had really picked up and Danny was starting to feel nervous about lightning strikes when Rusty called, "Hey, over here. This might work"

It wasn't a cave exactly. The terrain didn't lend itself to anything rocky enough to really qualify. But the outcropping of sandstone was facing out of the wind and rain. They could hunker back inside a ways. Most importantly to Danny's way of thinking, it would shield them from lightening. The crawled as far back as they could go and huddled together, lamenting the loss of their gear and cursing their stupidity for relying on anybody named Ziggy.

It wasn't late, but they were tired from the swim and hike across the island. After drinking a little rain water that collected in a hollowed out stone, they split a roll of soggy lifesavers Rusty had squirreled away in his pocket. The storm darkened the sky and the 'cave' was shadowy. Inevitably, they dozed off.

* * *

><p>Danny woke suddenly. Had he heard something? He listened closely, but didn't hear anything other than the pounding of the sea and the dripping of rain and the soft snoring of Rusty Ryan. He shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable. Then he really did hear something.<p>

A group of people were moving carelessly through the brush. Whoever they were, they weren't hiding their presence. Why would they? This tiny island was deserted. It would be really, really awkward if they were to find Danny and Rusty. So Danny gently covered Rusty's mouth with his hand and then nudged him awake. Danny put his face right up against Rusty's ear and whispered, "Wake up Rus. But shhhhhhh. Somebody's out there."

Rusty's eyes flickered open. He sought Danny eyes. Reading the need for silence and caution, but no immediate danger, Rusty nodded and carefully sat up.

They could now clearly hear them. It sounded like 3 or 4 men. They were talking loudly, spreading out over the area, looking for something and frustrated at not finding it.

Danny and Rusty had one bad moment when one of the searchers came within a few yards of their shelter. They held absolutely still. He came close and Rusty got a good look at his face. Powerful shoulders, funny round scar near his lower lip...He'd seen this man before. Flashing back to that night many months, before Danny arrived, back to that terrible night… back room…Rocky. The blood, the screaming...the cold man…that look…that touch. He took a deep breath. This was bad. Very bad. He squeezed Danny's hand...hard enough that Danny risked taking his eyes of the searcher to look questioningly at Rusty.

He was taken aback by the terrified look on Rusty's face. He'd seen dozen of expressions on his friend's face. Rusty was as expressive as Danny was a study of calm, collectedness. Wry amusement and unabashed delight were Danny's favorites. He'd grown so used to reading Rusty's body language…to reading Rusty…that they often didn't use words. But though he had seen disappointment, regret and even pain on his friend's face, he'd never seen this stark fear.

He knew immediately it went beyond fear of discovery by some adults in a place they really shouldn't be. They had talked their way out of stickier situations than this plenty of times. Rusty knew this man and he was someone dangerous, someone to be feared.

Danny squeezed back, trying to project assurance and calm. But he couldn't stop his heart from speeding up when the man started to turn towards their ill-concealed hiding spot. Just when the boys thought discovery was inevitable... no exit...no escape... nowhere to run...there was a sharp whistle.

The guy turned toward the sound, looking almost as relieved as the boys felt. He called out, "'bout fucking time. Mel's gonna have some explaining to do...making us comb this fucking rock...in the goddamned rain..."

As he turned away from the boys, Danny dared to poke his head up slightly to watch. Their searcher had joined the others. They were lifting about a half-dozen black gym bags out of an outcropping similar to the one they were hiding in. Drugs? Guns? Money? Too hard to tell at this distance. They worked efficiently and soon had the stash loaded on to a sleek black speedboat. They didn't bother to look back and soon were over the horizon.

Rusty crawled out of the cave and joined Danny, gazing in the direction the black boat had taken.

Danny glanced at Rusty. He had some color back in his face, but he still looked shaky. "So, you wanna tell me what that was all about?"

* * *

><p>It was truly dark by the time Rusty finished telling Danny about the cold men and about that night. He didn't hold anything back. He told Danny about how the look and that brush of fingers against his lips made him feel. Despite the heat and the humidity of the summer night, Danny shivered and wished for a sleeping bag, a blanket, a hoodie, anything to wrap around his shoulders to ward off the chill.<p>

They went back to the cave. The night was still overcast and there would be more rain by morning. They spent a soggy, miserable night huddled together. Rusty looked ruefully at Danny," Well at least your 13th birthday will be memorable."

* * *

><p>The next morning dawned clear and sunny and already blazing hot.<p>

Despite the previous day's events, they were both determined to make it to Horseshoe Island and find Charlie's gold.

Then Danny groaned.

"What?" Rusty looked alarmed.

"The map...the map was in a tube rolled up on my sleeping bag...that is still on Ziggy's boat...unless he was really mad and dumped it all at sea."

Danny hoped the teen would just ransom their stuff back, but he hadn't accounted for his irrational temper and look where that got them.

"Oh. That's ok." Rusty was relieved. "I can find it."

"Really?"

"What? You don't trust me?" Rusty laughed. He knew that Danny trusted him implicitly.

He picked up a stick and drew an exact replica of the map on the sand. To scale. With labels. Accurate labels.

"I shall never doubt again." He looked out at the waters. There were 4 or 5 islands in sight. "Which one is it?"

Rusty looked thoughtfully at the sky. Then he confidently picked out one of the more distant islands. "That one ...with that little hill in the middle and all those stunted black cherry trees."

Danny didn't question how Rusty could even see the trees let alone know what type they were. He just nodded and then looked seriously at Rus.

"How's the shoulder today?" It must have been achy after a night spent on the ground.

But Rusty just shrugged, "It's ok." And he walked out into the surf and plunged into the water, kicking towards Horseshoe Island.

* * *

><p>Danny had to tow Rusty the last 100 yards. He was fuming by the time they staggered onto the beach. Not because he had to help his friend, of course not. But clearly Rusty had been in way more pain than he'd indicated to Danny. And Danny didn't spot it. And that made Danny frustrated.<p>

"You Rusty Ryan are a lying liar who lies."

Rusty flopped down on the beach and just grinned at Danny like a mad fool. "Maybe…yeah, probably…but we made it!"

He looked so happy that Danny just shook his head fondly, unable to keep hold of his anger, and dropped down next to him.

They lay there for a few minutes, just basking in the warmth of the sun and in the success of getting this far. Then, recalling Edna's map, they made a beeline to a little stream where they drank deeply of the fresh running water. Thirst quenched, Rusty once again sketched the map in the dirt. According the mapmaker, (Charlie? Edna herself?) the old compound was located at the foot of the centrally located hill, in a grove of pine trees, near the ominously named Blighted Pirates Rock.

That's where they'd find the gold.

They headed towards the center of the island, following the stream, which _should_ lead them right to the compound. The good thing was they could drink whoever they wanted. The bad thing was that no longer thirsty, they realized how hungry they were. Rusty was almost tempted to try a handful of plump red berries, but Danny talked him out of it. Toxic berries were not part of the plan.

"There should be fruit at the compound," Danny told Rusty, "Remember Edna saying how much she and Charlie loved the beach plums? It's even the right time of year. "

A steady pace brought them to the old abandoned site within the hour.

The boys gazed around wonderingly. It was true. Not much remained - a few rickety sheds, collapsing from wind, weather and time. A small hut with a rotting mattress and hammock. Evidence that a fire pit in the center of the camp showed where a little cooking area had been.

And oh happy day, the whole area was surrounded by beach plum bushes and black cherry trees. The fruit was ripe and the boys ate their fill. Danny was concerned that they'd have belly aches later, but there was no stopping Rusty. He bit into the fruit like it was ambrosia. Danny was sharply reminded of that first day, the day he saw Rusty eating a plum.

Had it only been a month ago? He felt like he'd know Rusty all his life. Or maybe that life only started once he met Rusty. Huh. He laughed wryly at himself, deep thoughts for a 13 year old. To think he'd believed his life was over when he'd been exiled to the Jersey Shore. Now look at him, marooned on an island, with his best friend, about to hunt for buried pirate treasure. He laughed out loud. Yes, for Danny Ocean, life was good.

Rusty had finally stopped eating and was starting to explore the compound. Danny got up and joined him. The first few structures were empty, nothing interesting to see.

Then they came to one that was set right up against the rocky hill. They entered carefully, hoping not to disturb bats,

"Or snakes," Rusty's voice absolutely did not squeak.

This shed was different than the others. It was longer, more solidly constructed, with no windows. Along the back wall they found a trap door, wooden hatch partially rotted away. It opened easily and the boys gazed down into the darkness.

"A tunnel..."

"This has got"

"To be it."

They grinned at each other.

Danny was getting ready to swing himself down onto the pit, when Rusty started rubbing his mouth. Seriously, Danny was going to have to mention that it was getting to be a pretty obvious tell. Or maybe he wouldn't say anything. He needed any advantage he could get.

"What is it?"

"We can't go down there." Rusty didn't sound happy about it.

Danny just stared at him. "Of course we can go down there. It the whole reason we came."

"Yes, I _know_ we came all this way. Yes, I _know_ what we risked to get here. But we can't. Danny. Just listen. We have no supplies. No flashlight, no candle, no nothing. We don't even have two dry sticks to rub together ... as if we really could start a fire or had a stick to turn into a torch. And it's just not safe. And I don't mean snakes. But yes, snakes too. But, really I mean deep dark places and broken ankles and no rope to pull you out. If I even could with this shoulder...and that's NOT playing dirty...Because I _know_ you'd insist on being the one to go down first into the bottomless pit…And even _if_...and it's a big _if_...if we got down there and _if_ we found the gold...we don't have an exit strategy.

Our exit strategy was..._was_...a now pissed off Ziggy, who probably forgot that we are out here and probably doesn't care even if he didn't...so even _if_ we found the gold, and even _if_ we thought Ziggy would come back for us...we don't have anything to camouflage the gold, like we would have done if we still had our gear... But we don't because it is probably at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean! (And he paused for a moment to catch his breath and to mourn the loss of cracker jacks and tootsie pops and especially a canvas duffle bag that could have inconspicuously held the gold) And even _Ziggy_ isn't so stupid as to not notice a big treasure chest...and I can't put gold doubloons in my pockets because they all have holes...and I'd clank. _So we just can't_."

Rusty was becoming a little worked up. Danny decided he'd better say something. And maybe get them into some shade. He took Rusty by the shoulders, gently, gently, not forgetting the injury and steered him to a shade spot by the stream.

"Hey. Hey. Ok. I get it. No risks. We need an exit strategy. I get it." He eyed Rusty cautiously, not quite sure how this next bit would be received. "The gold's been safe there for over 50 years. We'll just have to come back."

And Rusty, who still looked a little wild around the eyes, blinked, once, twice.

Then, realizing Danny'd been convinced, he shot him that crazy, insufferable, fantastic grin. "Well _of course_ we'll come back. It's treasure after all."

* * *

><p>That decided, Danny and Rusty turned their attention to the current predicament: getting home. Even Rusty admitted that he'd not be able to swim any distance to a place they could get picked up by a fisherman or a tourist. He tried to convince Danny to strike out on his own, but Danny refused to leave Rusty alone on the island, especially with the possibility of cold men lurking about somewhere on the Barrier Islands. What if they were using Horeshead to stash drugs…guns…money. No. They were not splitting up.<p>

As much as it pained them, they had to hold out hope that it would be in Ziggy's self-interest to return for them. Cherie had a formidable reputation in town, and Danny didn't doubt there would be hell to pay on all fronts if the boys were missing after tonight.

If, in the unlikely, but possible event that he didn't return, they were counting on Ziggy being constitutionally unable to keep from bragging about getting the better of Danny and Rusty and dumping them. Eventually this gossip would make its way to one of Rusty's network of friends and relations who would get to the bottom of it all and the boys would get picked up. The catch, of course, was the 'eventually.' Plus, living down the humiliation of it all would really, really suck. So they hoped Ziggy would show.

They were at the appointed place on the beach, at the appointed time. There was no sign of Ziggy. Late afternoon came and went. No Ziggy. The sun was setting. Still no Ziggy.

Venus was bright in the sky and Rusty was trying to talk Danny into heading back to the compound (to the fruit trees) when they heard the low thrum of a motor. Still cautious, even though the boat didn't sound like the powerful speed boat the cold men used, they waited at the tree line until they could determine who was approaching. They actually heard him before they saw him...it was Ziggy, calling out insults, curses and greetings cheerfully. They looked at each other, allowing the worry and relief to show now that the ordeal was over.

Ziggy, who was looking rather relieved himself, probably at not having to explain to Danny's aunt why her nephew was lost at sea, clapped them both on the back. "So no hard feelings, right guys? I mean we can all take a joke right? "

Rusty, who had hurled himself at the pile of supplies that was still stowed right whereit had been left, was nodding in agreement while gobbling down a packet of nutter butters and guzzling warm soda. Danny, however, wasn't prepared to be quite so magnanimous.

He quietly approached Ziggy at the wheel. Rusty strained, but couldn't hear what was said. He saw Ziggy's hand clench the wheel and saw his head bobbing frantically at something Danny said. Then Danny patted him on the back in a very friendly manner and strolled back to sit with Rusty.

It's been taken care of, Danny said wordlessly.

Cool. Never doubted you.

Rusty handed over something prepackaged and soft. It was a Twinkie. "It's not a proper birthday cake, but it'll have to do. Happy Birthday, Danny."

Danny laughed and unwrapped the pastry.

He handed one of the cakes to Rusty. And they sat back, shoulder to shoulder, and silently watched the stars until they were home.

Later that night, back at the bungalow, after a hot dinner and showers and real birthday cake, the boys were snuggled in their beds. Cherie promised a Big Surprise the next day and after dreamily speculating on what it might be, (telescope? cassette recorder?) Danny was on the brink of sleep. Suddenly, he sat up, remembering something.

"Rus? You still awake?"

"Mmmmm"...a sleepy murmur. "What is it Danny?"

"I forgot...I never asked. What was in the package, that ball of newspaper that Edna sent down for you?"

Rusty chuckled, "Ooh, just a silly knickknack. She probably thought it would be funny to give me a trinket while giving you actual buried treasure."

But he reached under his pillow and felt for the little cat. He rubbed it for luck, and fell asleep smiling.


	7. Chapter 7 - Unforgettable Days

A/N - Still don't own anybody named Danny or Rusty.

* * *

><p>Danny Ocean knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the worst day of his life was the day of his father's funeral. He also knew with even more certainty that the happiest day of his life was the day he met Rusty Ryan.<p>

This day, however, was a close second. At the very least it was unforgettable. He woke up late. The sun was high on the sky. Blazing away in full July glory. He'd slept almost until noon.

This was unusual, Danny was definitely an early riser. He got into the habit during the time he spent in New York, so he could spend an hour with his dad, eating breakfast, reading the paper, discussing current events, and baseball scores. He kept the habit at school, liking the rare solitude, the stillness. Later in life, when late nights at casinos and jobs that called for the safety of darkness, the cover of night were his norm, he was no longer waking to greet the dawn. Rather, he would stay awake until the sun rose, acknowledging the passing of time, the changing seasons, the turning of the planet. Then he would pull heavy hotel curtains shut tight and sleep.

But at thirteen he was used to waking soon after sunrise. Danny felt off, sluggish and tired following the adventure he and Rusty had out on the Barrier Islands. He also was upset that they'd come so close, but didn't have anything to show for it.

Danny worried about Edna's health as well. He was genuinely found of the grand old dame, eagerly listening to the stories of her life and loves. Yeah, Rusty thought she was half mad, but Danny loved her despite her unconventional ways, or maybe because of them.

Danny hadn't discussed it with Rusty, yet, but he hoped to find more than gold out in those islands. He was hoping to find proof about what happened to Charlie. Did he meet with foul play, or an accident? Or, like Rusty thought, did he abandon Edna and their unborn baby? Or did he really vanish without a trace. Danny knew how hard it was to accept that someone you loved was gone forever. He didn't like to think about how it had been, how it still was for Edna. To not know what really happened. To weigh whether death or abandonment was the more palatable answer. All those years, not knowing if someone you loved was waiting for you...

And that brought him to Rus. Rusty, his brilliant, brave, best friend. His friend who was currently black and blue from wrist to shoulder. His friend who hid his injury from Danny for almost 48 hours. And who had gone through a horrific experience at the hands of a group of mysterious thugs without breathing a word to anyone. His friend whose own father abandoned him before he was born.

Ugh. Ok. No use being pessimistic. Coffee, breakfast, or lunch, given the time, and then he'd find Rusty and they'd start working on Plan B - How they'd get back to the island.

After Danny was sufficiently caffeinated and fed (with Rusty reliably joining him for second breakfast) Cherie, who had taken a rare day off work, announced it was time for Danny to receive his birthday gift.

Rusty was practically vibrating with excitement as they followed Cherie down to the little dock at the back of the bungalow. The property was next to a small canal that ran out to the sea. The boys occasionally came down to the dock to see if they could toss a rope to the other standing on the other side of the canal, or occasionally, at night, to swim.

Rusty was grinning like a fool, and even Cherie looked uncommonly pleased with herself. As the dock came into sight Danny saw the reason and drew to a stunned halt.

Moored at the dock was a small yacht. Danny gaped until Rusty punched him on the shoulder and Cherie told him he would catch flies with his mouth hanging open like that.

Then he was moving, down to the dock and aboard the boat. He remembered himself and just as fast, he was back, standing in front of Cherie. He seized her hands in his.

"I don't know how to thank you. This...this is amazing."

She smiled gently at Danny. Rusty thought the rare smile made her look beautiful. "Danny. I know that I am not given to emotional displays, or toward extravagant displays of generosity (Rusty privately begged to differ, but kept quiet) but your father planned on giving the _Constellation_ to you for your 13th birthday. "

"It was his, given to him on his 13th birthday as well, buy our grandfather. As a boy he would sail along these shores for hours and days on end. This craft is part of some of my fondest memories of our childhood."

"It's been in dry dock here, and after young Rusty regaled me with some quite impressive tales of sea faring daring-do, _we_," and she gave Rusty a fond look that was reserved just for him, " we decided it would make a proper 13th Birthday Present. I know you are familiar with sailing, but before you take her out on open water, I must insist on a safety course. Sean O'Connor, retired recently from the local Coast Guard, will be here within the hour to begin. Until he tells me you are _both_ fit, you will limit your excursions to the inland canal."

Cherie continued her lecture. "This vessel is known as a pocket cruiser. It was based on the design of the Australia's best known and most popular pocket cruiser, the Savage Nautilus, a shoal draft yacht of 19 ft 4 in length overall with a 7 ft 10 in beam and a full length keel that draws only 2 ft 9 in. Fitted with an 8hp Yanmar diesel inboard motor, an unusual feature in a boat so small, and capable of sleeping four adults, they were produced in large numbers and have proved incredibly popular with Australian pocket cruising enthusiasts. Loosely based on a lifeboat design, they are sufficiently stable and heavily constructed to sail offshore and some have made long distance blue water crossings, such as the notorious waters of Bass Strait, between mainland Australia and the island state of Tasmania.

Cherie looked shrewdly at the boys, "It should definitely suit your needs as you explore the local waters. It shall also lessen your reliance upon certain unreliable elements of the nautical community." The boys exchanged startled looks.

Then she drew herself up, her allowance of sentiment almost spent. "Happy Birthday, my boy. You deserve this." She shook Danny's hand and retired to the bungalow.

And with that, their plan fell into place. Rusty wanted to immediately head back to Horseshoe Island, but Danny, for once the cautious one, wouldn't risk _Constellation_ until they were both competent sailors. O'Connor had impressed upon them the dangers that the hidden sandbars, reefs and unexpected shallows around the Barrier Islands posed.

Danny had spent many hours with his dad on boats of all kinds. He quickly learned the nuances of the pocket cruiser. He preferred using the sail to the diesel motor. He loved the sounds of wind and waves and could coax an impressive speed from the little craft.

Rusty proved to be a natural navigator. His perfect recall made it easy for him to judge their position and plot the course for their adventures.

And so, one clear, hot July morning, the little boat packed with supplies, they pulled away from the dock and headed back to Horseshoe Island. They were going back to get the gold.

* * *

><p>AN - With a name like Danny Ocean, how could he not love the sea.

A/N - Cherie's lecture comes verbatim from wikipedias entry "pocket cruiser." They are real boats. I was very pleased to discover them, so that Danny's having one would be semi-realistic.


	8. Chapter 8 The Tunnel

They stood at the edge and peered down, down down into the darkness. They'd tossed a little pocket flashlight down to try to gauge the depth, but it went out immediately upon impact. Great.

"Well, we have 20 feet of rope," Rusty pointed out...unnecessarily, but his nerves were acting up. He wouldn't be the first one down. Despite an impassioned argument, Danny wasn't budging on that point. No, Danny was going down alone. And Rusty didn't like it. Oh, it made perfect sense. Logical. No, Rusty didn't like it at all.

"Let's just chuck it in. If it hits the bottom, we'll have a rough idea how far down the bottom is."

"No, no. Lower it bit at a time. Then we can estimate by how much is left up here."

About half was left. So, ten feet. A fall wouldn't kill Danny...unless he landed badly and broke his neck. Or got tangled in the rope and choked himself to death...or

"Stop over thinking it, Rus. You won't let go. I won't fall. I won't break my neck. It will be fine. I did this all the time in gym class. The rope was my specialty."

There was no need to ask how Danny knew he was thinking that. Danny always knew.

When his feet touched the bottom, Danny breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, he'd been played the calm and confident role up there, but he'd been more nervous that he was willing to let on to Rusty. Yeah, like he'd ever fool Rus.

"Ok. I'm down. Easy." He paused, debated saying it. Kinda mean. Oh what the hell, "Told you so. "

He heard Rusty muttering something uncomplimentary. Danny pulled a larger flashlight out of his backpack. Time for a look around.

He was standing at the bottom of a chamber that'd been dug out of the dirt and rock. The old trapdoor was about 10 feet above his head. The chamber was empty, but a narrow tunnel, about 5 feet high, led out of the main room. It smelled of dirt and mold. It was cold and a little bit drafty. Danny was glad he had a sweatshirt in the backpack. He pulled it on and called up to Rusty.

"Room's empty, but there's a tunnel." He started to walk towards the opening. Then he heard a scraping and rustling sound and he watched in amazement as Rusty Ryan slid down the rope. His feet hit the dirt floor lightly and he bounced right up to Danny.

Danny just stared at him. This was not the plan.

"Had enough slack to anchor the rope to a tree growing right by the door." Rusty explained. "I tied it really well, like you showed me." He looked sheepishly at Danny. "Don't want you going down that tunnel alone."

Danny scowled, but bumped Rusty's shoulder. It did feel better having Rusty here.

"Well since you're already here, you may as well come. but I am going first. You stay behind me and whatever happens, do not drop the flashlight."

"Aye-aye captain." Rusty has really taken to the idea of a life at sea. He was even wearing a lime green bandana around his head, pirate style AND Danny had caught him fingering a large gold hoop earring of his mother's a few days ago. What was next? A tattoo?

The proceeded carefully down the tunnel. Every 10 feet or so, they'd find small alcoves dug into the walls. Some contained boxes of desiccated food and dusty bottles of booze. The got excited when they saw a medium sized chest in another. But after brushing off half a century's worth of cobwebs, they opened it and found some moldering clothes. There was an old brooch inside, which Danny pocketed thinking to show it to Edna.

As they went further into the tunnel, the alcoves grew bigger. Eventually they came across some the size of full fledged rooms. Most were empty. Some had random junk. They found nothing useful and were feeling uncharacteristically discouraged. After Danny got tangled in a truly impressive spiderweb for the second time in under 20 minutes (Really Danny, is there some kind of gravitational pull?) and Rusty's eyes were streaming from the thick dust, they decided to head up top and take a break.

They scrambled up the rope and were breathing fresh air with relief. Rusty blinked several times, adjusting o the bright sun. He realized with some surprise that it was barely mid-morning. They'd no idea how much of the tunnel they'd managed to explore. The weak beam from the flashlight didn't let them see more than 10-12 feet in front of them. He wondered when they'd come to the end of the tunnel. He hoped they would find something soon. Sure, Rusty would be thrilled to find a secret cache of pirate jewels or gold hidden by smugglers. But he really wanted to find something because it clearly meant something more to Danny. And since he'd come into Rusty's life, Danny had given him so much. Rusty wanted some of that good fortune to find its way to his friend. That said, he hoped they found it soon because something about that dark, damp place gave Rusty the willies.

* * *

><p>They'd left <em>The Constellation<em> moored in a lagoon that was hidden from the outside by a weirdly shaped outcropping of rock. It reminded Danny of the mermaid lagoon from Peter Pan. Of course that would make him Captain Hook, but Rusty scoffed at this. "If anyone's meant to be part of the Lost Boys it's you and me, buddy." And Danny had to agree to that.

After a tasty lunch of peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches, chips and some fruit (a nectarine for Danny and the obligatory plum for Rusty, "Honestly," Danny asked, "Do you ever eat any other kind of fruit?" Rusty shrugged,"Sure, I like maraschino cherries and caramel apples." ) and a quick dip in the lagoon, the boys were back in the tunnel.

They'd gone about 50 yards past their previous stopping point when the tunnel split. The left branch started to go slightly uphill. They followed it a ways when they felt a breeze. Another 50 yards, with no side passages or alcoves of any kind, and they could see sunlight ahead.

"It's a back door!" Danny exclaimed.

"Always good to have a second exit." Rusty spoke approvingly.

The tunnel came to the surface inside a small cave right by the beach. This beach was on the part of the island opposite the lagoon (They'd explored pretty thoroughly and Rusty had drawn a map.) The compound lay about half-way between the two. They watched a speedboat on the horizon. The sky was clear and blue. The birds and other small animals that lived on the island were quiet, probably sleeping in the mid-day heat. They could hear the thrum of the speed boat as it zipped along.

They go back down and take the other branch. Not as dusty. They aren't leaving footprints. Danny starts to feel odd. "I've got a bad feeling about this." They come to a room. No spider webs. They go in. Stacks of guns. They'd found something...but not what they were hoping for. Not at all.

Danny thought back to the view on the beach. The sound of the speed boat. The sound of the approaching speedboat. The sound of the approaching speed boat that looked similar to the one the cold men who'd been search the islet had been in.

"Rusty, we have to get out of here."

And they turned and ran back down the tunnel. Too late.

* * *

><p>The last thing Danny remembered was a man dragging Rusty into the big shed. Rusty was fighting every step of the way. Danny remembered biting one of the men holding him ... Then there was nothing. He must have been hit on the head. When he woke up he was bound and his head ached. Danny struggled against the ropes. His wrists and ankles were tied tight. He'd been dumped in one of the decrepit side buildings and left alone. He had to get out. He had to find Rusty.<p>

"Ok," he thought. "Deep breaths, calm down. You'll be no help to Rusty if you panic." Instead of struggling, he tested his bonds methodically. Yeah, his wrists were tired tightly, but if he concentrated, he could generate a little slack. and once he has a bit of wiggle room, he'd keep going until he could slip the rope off...IF he was left alone for enough time. Danny let his mind wander as he worked at the ropes. It was better to think about restocking _The Constellation_ with chips and pretzels or whether or not it was too soon to try sneaking into the movie theater on Bingham Street again than let himself dwell on his captors and what they could be doing to Rusty. He had to stay calm.

Finally he felt a little bit of slack in the rope. He was able to twist his finger out, then his thumb. he was able to pick at the knot, and after an eternity, his hands were free. He kicked off his shoes and was able to make much faster time unknotting the rope around his ankles. Shoes back on, he sat still for a moment and collected his thoughts.

Danny quietly stood up and moved to the door. When he glanced out, the compound seemed to be deserted. Dusk was falling, however, and he couldn't be certain that no one was lurking in the shadows. He waited and slowly counted to 300. When 5 minutes passed, and he didn't see or hear any movement, Danny slipped outside. Keeping himself in the shadows, he ghosted around the compound, checking all the outbuildings and sheds. All were empty. No sign of the cold men. But no sign of Rusty either. That left one more place to check before heading out to see if the speedboat was still anchored by the beach.

The tunnel. His flashlight had been taken and he didn't have any matches. The safe thing to do would have been to return to _The Constellation_ and get rope and light. But Danny couldn't bear the thought of Rusty being down there. So he crept into the shed and approached the trap door. Their rope was still there. Still tied to the tree. Was it a trap? He had to risk it.

Danny slid down the rope and listened. He heard nothing. He closed his eyes and thought about the route he and Rusty had taken just this morning. Luckily the tunnel didn't branch until the very end. As long as he didn't panic and get twisted around, he could proceed down the tunnel, feeling for side rooms and listening for Rusty. He took a deep breath and started down the long black path.


End file.
